


Australia

by tenpointstohufflepuff (MsBinns)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 328,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBinns/pseuds/tenpointstohufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While grieving the loss of his brother and trying to figure out life after the war, Ron and Hermione go on a journey to Australia to find Hermione's parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and all other Harry Potter characters are property of JK Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. Thanks Jo, for being an author who allows people like me to have fun exploring the different paths your characters could travel down.

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Most of the bodies lying in the Great Hall looked peaceful and undisturbed. There was no blood on them, no evidence of the curse that inflicted the fatal damage, just pale bodies laying there devoid of life. Colin Creevey simply looked like he was sleeping on a blanket of bed curtains. But Lavender was different. Ron stood over her still body, his hand clinched around Hermione's, and couldn't even tell if she was dead or not. Her face was nearly unrecognizable behind the deep gashes and dried blood, and it was impossible to tell beneath all the torn flesh and blood whether she did indeed belong among the line of dead or in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey. His eyes glanced over the maimed body of the girl he had spent a large part of last year snogging. The girl who, like so many others, had bravely stayed to defend Hogwarts and had paid a horrible price for it. Though barely an hour had actually passed since the horrific battle had ended, and Voldemort had crumpled to the ground, it felt like longer to Ron.

There was Luca Caruso and Matthew Kettletoft. Anthony Goldstein, a member of the D.A who Ron had just exchanged words with no more than ten hours ago, and Jack Sloper, whose dark stubble disguised the fact that he was only sixteen years old.

"Did I tell you about when he knocked himself out with his own bat?" Ron turned to Hermione as he looked at Jack, whose body was lying beside Lavender. His shaggy hair fell in front of his closed eyes and his lips were parted slightly like he was about to say something, even though Ron knew he wouldn't ever say anything again. "Him and Kirke were bloody awful." The corners of his mouth raised slightly at the memory of Sloper's brief stint on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "He was so excited to play. He said he was the first one from his family to be on a House team."

His sweaty hand clamped a bit tighter around Hermione's as he turned his attention back to Lavender. Her blonde hair was matted with blood, and three large slashes ran horizontally across her face, one just barely missing her eyelids. Her delicate hands, which had been folded neatly across her body, had deep gashes that looked as if they were the result of futile attempts to fight off her attacker. The sight wrenched his stomach, and he was about to turn away when he detected an unmistakable twitch in her left hand.

"Hermione." He froze and stared long and hard at Lavender. Her hand did not move again, but he was sure he had just seen her take a breath. "Hermione, I think she's alive."

"She couldn't be." Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked closely at the body lying among the dead. A gasp sounded from Hermione's lips and the horrified look on her face confirmed Ron's suspicions.

"Help!" he called out blindly, looking desperately around the Great Hall for assistance. "We need some help here!"

"Help!" Hermione shouted loudly in the direction of the platform where the wounded were being tended. "Somebody help, she's alive!" A trio of witches, Hannah Abbott and Parvati Patil among them, came running over.

They reacted quickly, pushing Ron and Hermione aside as they made a beeline to Lavender. Ron watched dumbly as one put a wand to her wrist and another to her temple. Their actions were urgent and they spoke to each other in hushed and serious tones. He wondered if Parvati could even tell in all her haste that the mauled individual she was tending to was her best friend.

The methodical way they reacted looked as if they'd done it a thousand times already that morning. He felt useless and could only stand rooted to the floor as they watched Lavender float to the raised platform where the healers had gathered.

"Do you know what even happened to her?" he murmured though he was quite sure of the only creature that could inflict such gruesome injuries.

"She fell off the balcony." Hermione shuddered. "And then Greyback…"

Ron winced at the mention of the name. He glanced around the hall, past grieving families and friends until his eyes rested momentarily on his own. They'd all been together before hell broke loose this morning, but now they were scattered in tiny pockets around the Great Hall.

Ginny was seated on a bench, sobbing into his mum's chest on one side of the room. Percy sat numbly in the opposite corner with his head in his hands. His dad stood stiffly beside Bill and Charlie, and then, almost as if he was keeping watch over Fred, there was George. He sat on the cold stone floor beside his twin, his hand resting protectively over the sheet that covered him. Ron squeezed his eyes shut and looked away.

"Do you want to join them?" Hermione asked quietly.

Ron opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out. Instead, he took in a shaky breath and lifted his eyes to the enchanted ceiling. He was surprised to see the morning sky was clear and cloudless. He thought to himself that he'd much prefer clouds. The ceiling itself wasn't even whole anymore. The great ribbed vaults had come crashing down in places and the back half was completely blown out. His eyes darted around the hall. Everywhere he looked something was broken, dead, or destroyed. There was the house elf with the fatal gash across his chest he hoped Hermione hadn't seen and a chestnut centaur whose left foreleg was twisted at a grotesque angle. The great fireplace on the far wall had collapsed in on itself, and the winged sculptures that held up the many oil lamps had been blasted from the wall in places. The platform where their headmaster used to sit held a group of makeshift Healers now gathered around Lavender Brown. The hall was completely unrecognizable from the one that had welcomed him every September. Everywhere he looked there was just so much loss.

And yet all around signs of life slowly began to emerge. The faint sound of laughter even broke out from next to one of the shattered windows where students were throwing food into Grawp's open mouth. Ron jerked his head toward the sound, horrified by the laughter when there were at least fifty bodies still lying in the Hall.

Seeming to detect his agitation, Hermione slowly led him by the hand into a corner away from the dead where a torch on the wall had fallen, taking much of the masonry with it. She lowered her body onto a nearby bench and tugged on his arm, as if to encourage him to do the same, but he continued to stand and stare silently into the rubble.

"We got him." Ron spoke numbly, his eyes getting lost in the pile of stone. "Me and Neville."

"Got who?" Hermione asked, sounding quite confused at his random remark.

"Greyback."

"Killed him, you mean?" She gasped. He gave a slight nod of the head but still did not meet her gaze.

"Crushed his head with a bit of Lachlan the Lanky." His voice was neither boastful nor remorseful; there was only a sense of resigned indifference at what he'd done.

"You probably saved a lot of lives," Hermione offered.

Ron simply continued staring into the rubble. The streaks on his face from the tears that had fallen last night after his brother fell were still evident, pale lines down a battle-worn face caked in dirt and grime.

He wondered if she remembered restraining him behind the curtains last night while he struggled against her maniacally. He could really only recall the night in bits and pieces. There was the portrait in the Hogs Head they'd passed through and the sink tap where he'd whispered Parseltongue. He recalled the terrible shriek that had sounded from Helga Hufflepuff's cup as Hermione plunged the basilisk fang into it, and he remembered the all too brief feeling of her lips on his not longer after. And then Harry was dragging Fred behind a statue and the night got fuzzy. All he could coherently remember was Hermione trying desperately to keep him focused on the job at hand.

"Not when it counted." He tried to pull the tears that now threatened to fall back inside him, the anger evident in his voice.

"You can't possibly think that, Ron. There wasn't anything you ─"

"Yeah, I could have ─"

"You couldn't have," Hermione insisted. His chin trembled and the muscles in his face hurt as he stared into the pile of rubble, unable to get the image of his brother's smiling unmoving face out of his head. Before last night, the only time he'd come close to crying in front of Hermione had been Dumbledore's funeral. Then he had managed to keep most of his tears obscured from view while he held her against him, but he had failed last night. He refused to fail again now. Stiffly, he finally lowered his body to rest beside her on the bench.

They sat and stared into the crumbled masonry in silence. The sheer physical presence of Hermione's body radiated a warmth through him, relaxing his entire being.

It felt good not to need to talk. The way she leaned into his shoulder, almost like her body was keeping him upright, reminded him of the way he'd done the same to her back at Shell Cottage. Though it had been no more than a month ago, Dobby's funeral was still fresh in his mind. She had been so weak then he had practically had to carry her to the outskirts of the garden to Dobby's grave. Now it was she who was supporting his weight. He glanced down at their entwined hands that rested in his lap and thought about how many times he'd come close to losing her in the past few months. To losing Harry. To losing his entire family. He felt a stab deep in his chest as the thought crossed his mind that he had been lucky to only lose Fred.

Lucky.

He snorted, disgusted at himself for even thinking that anything about this could be lucky.

"Do you suppose he was in pain at all?" He broke the silence.

"No." She lowered her head to his shoulder. "No, I - I think it was quick."

Ron tilted his head so it rested against hers, comforted only slightly by her words. Minutes passed by in silence and still they sat there. Eventually, Ron glanced to Hermione, wondering if she had fallen asleep against him.

"Do you reckon we should look for Harry?" A wave of guilt washed over him that he hadn't thought of looking for his friend before. Parents, students, teachers, elves, and centaurs had slowly started trickling into the hall. Even the occasional suit of armor, whose enchantments had yet to wear off, came clanking in, but there was no sign of Harry.

Professor McGonagall had begun returning the House tables to their rightful places and conversation filled the cavernous hall once again. A mournful wail would occasionally sound above the crowd, but the room gradually began to resemble the Great Hall on any other typical May morning. The aroma of freshly cooked breakfast even began to waft through the hall as a house elf or two walked by with trays loaded with bacon and toast. The sight reminded Ron how different everything was. The world had shifted. Everything - from the way Hermione leaned against him, breathing softly into his shoulder, to the "thank you" that sounded from behind them as food was delivered - seemed to show it.

"Maybe he wants to be alone," Hermione murmured. She sounded as content as Ron to simply sit together amid the rubble for the rest of the morning. No sooner had she spoken the words then Harry's voice sounded over her shoulder.

"It's me."


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione and Ron startled at the sudden sound of Harry's voice, but saw nothing when they turned around. They didn't need to ask . They knew he was wearing his father's cloak in a likely attempt for peace and privacy among the growing crowd.

"Will you come with me?" Harry's voice sounded again from the nothingness. Ron had an inkling as to where Harry wanted to go and he wouldn't mind leaving the Great Hall and all its carnage, but the thought of returning down the corridors where so much had also been lost made him shudder.

He gave a lingering glance back to his family, his eyes resting the longest on George, before following the sound of Harry's footsteps out to the Entrance Hall. Ruby, sapphire, emerald and topaz beads, remnants of the shattered house hourglass, covered the floor. The gems were a stark reminder that the number of gems for Gryffindor had once seemed like the most important thing in the world to him. His eyes took in the spectacular ruin that was Hogwarts the morning after. The castle that had once been their home - a bastion of peace, comfort, and safety - was in shambles. Remnants of statues, including what Ron thought looked like the other half of Lachlan the Lanky, and great clumps of potting soil, no doubt the result of Professor Sprout's valiant defenses, littered the stone floor.

Harry marched up the marble staircase with a clear destination in mind, kicking aside the rubble as he went. Portraits were torn and tattered, walls were crumbling, and a small fire even smoldered at the top of the stairs. Hermione gasped each time they passed a bloodstain, but Ron and Harry didn't flinch. In fact, Harry's footsteps didn't stop until he reached a crumbling stone gargoyle on the second floor. Only then, as if seeming to decide he was far enough away from the crowds, did he finally remove the cloak. Ron embraced him as soon as he became visible. His hand was still joined with Hermione's and their arms enveloped Harry like a blanket. It marked one of only a handful of times Ron could ever remember hugging him in his life, but if Harry was at all uncomfortable by the fierce hug, he remained silent. Ron squeezed him tightly, as if to confirm that it truly was his best friend.

Harry's triumphant return that morning had been difficult for him to process. At first he had thought he was imagining it, the same way he now expected Fred to walk through the doors at any moment and shout 'surprise!' It had only been Hermione's fingernails digging into his arms that made him realise other people could see Harry too.

And while they had briefly celebrated with him in the immediate aftermath of his victory, his success then had been all that mattered. Now as he hugged his friend, Ron remembered all too well the sight of Harry's limp body lying in Hagrid's arms. He remembered the pit he'd felt in his stomach with the realisation that his best friend was dead and he'd lost not one, but two brothers in a matter of hours.

"Oh, Harry! We thought - we thought…" Hermione seemed to be recalling the sight of Harry's presumed dead body as well. She couldn't make herself say the words or release Harry from her grasp.

"We thought you were gone, mate," Ron finished, a slight crack in his voice as he spoke.

"I know." Harry broke away and looked to Ron then. "I could hear you though…what you said to him."

Ron kicked around a piece of broken glass uncomfortably at Harry's words. He beat you! He hadn't realised at the time how much those defiant words to Voldemort had roused everyone. They had done more than just break the Silencing Charm.; they'd lifted everyone from the despair that had gripped them all at seeing Harry's lifeless body. Now that Harry mentioned it and Ron thought back, he felt like the memory was of someone else. That couldn't have been him. There was no way he could have stood up and directly challenged the man whose name alone he had feared to speak for nearly nineteen years. Ron shrugged.

"I just told the truth," he stated simply.

Peeves suddenly appeared from the ceiling above and began whizzing about their heads, singing verses of a jubilant victory song.

"We did it, we bashed them! Wee Potter's the one. Now Voldy's gone mouldy, so let's have some fun!"

"Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn't it?" Ron remarked dryly.

He took a step forward and opened up the door before them. Though they had made no mention of their destination, he knew exactly where they were headed. He knew there was only one person in the castle Harry wanted to see right now. Hermione paused beside the door and waited for him to pass through as well, but Ron motioned for her to go through first. The courteous action had become second nature to him. He had been opening doors and pulling out chairs for her for most of the last year, but the act of chivalry still seemed to please her and she gave him a flattered smile as she walked by.

"Why'd you go after him alone?" Ron finally asked what he knew had been weighing on their minds since Hagrid had brought Harry's body forth that morning. "Why didn't you come get us?"

"Because it was me," Harry blurted out, as if that explained everything. "I was his last Horcrux."

"You?" Hermione cried incredulously. They passed by a painting of a crowded dinner party of old wizards who all had their glasses raised in honour of Harry and were shouting his name. It looked like numerous other figures had joined the party from other paintings. Harry gave them a curt nod of acknowledgment and thanks.

"When he gave me this." He pointed to the scar on his forehead. "He made me a Horcrux without even knowing it."

"You mean there was a piece of Voldemort's soul inside you all these years?" Hermione asked. She wrinkled her nose, clearly disturbed at the concept. Harry nodded solemnly.

"It's why I can speak Parseltongue."

"So all these years You-Know-Who's been trying to kill you…he didn't even know he'd be killing part of himself in the process." Ever the tactician, Ron reasoned the logic out slowly in his head. "That's brilliant!"

The trio walked past yet another congratulatory portrait and Harry gave another terse wave in its general direction. A look of horror suddenly crossed Hermione's face and the color drained from it in a matter of seconds.

"Except it means - it means you had to – y - you," Hermione stammered at the realisation of the sacrifice Harry had been forced to make. "Oh, Harry, and you didn't even say goodbye!" She burst into tears quite suddenly and Ron pulled her instinctively to his chest in a hug. He knew why Harry hadn't said goodbye. It was the same reason he hadn't planned on bothering with goodbyes when he left the Burrow last summer. Secretly, he was glad they'd been forced to leave during the wedding like they had back in August. If he had started saying goodbye he knew he'd probably never be able to stop. He looked to his friend and nodded his head in understanding.

"But how did you know you were a Horcrux? Please tell me you didn't know all this time that you had to…" Hermione looked truly ill at the thought and couldn't even finish her sentence.

"I didn't. I swear," Harry promised. "It was Professor Snape. Professor Snape told me." Harry spoke the name rather wistfully and Ron looked at him curiously. He was puzzled by both the forlorn look on his face at the mention of Snape, and the fact that Harry had actually addressed him by his proper title. Ron could only recall Harry calling him Professor Snape under duress or when corrected by another teacher.

"But Professor Snape's - "

"Dead, I know." Again, the melancholy look crossed Harry's face.

"So how - "

"His memories. Remember he gave me his memories before he died?"

"Yeah, I still don't understand why that git thought you'd want them," Ron hissed, still unable to excuse years of torment at the hands of the ill-tempered potions master.

"Obviously he knew something Harry had to know," Hermione stated as they wandered down a rubble-strewn corridor.

"He knew it all. He knew how to beat him. He knew how it had to happen."

"You mean he knew you had to die?" Hermione interrupted.

"That probably made him happy," Ron scoffed.

"No. It didn't." Harry was quick to defend. He paused both his narrative and his feet momentarily, causing Ron and Hermione to stop in their tracks as well. "He was on our side, Ron, didn't you hear me telling Riddle?"

"About arranging Dumbledore's death and all? I heard. Seems to me he enjoyed playing on the dark side a bit too much though." Ron remembered all too well the cursed-off ear of his brother.

"He was trying to protect George and Professor Lupin that night," Harry seemed to read Ron's mind, but at the mention of Lupin they all grew quite morose. Ron had been so numb to the loss this morning that Fred was all he could even think about. He'd hardly even thought about poor Professor Lupin and Tonks.

"You don't know that." He finally broke the silence.

"I used the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office. There was a Death Eater about to curse him. He didn't mean to hit George."

Ron scowled, unconvinced by his explanation. He opened up his mouth to counter Harry's defense of Snape, but the words died in his mouth as he recognised the corridor they were suddenly standing in.

The explosion had torn a hole in the castle, leaving a gaping wound to the outside. Ron winced at the sunlight streaming in. Bits of the night slowly returned to him as he looked down the corridor numbly. Underneath the painting of the dragon hunt was where he had been thrown. The great bloodstain was where Percy had turned Pius Thicknesse into a human sea urchin. And there at the end of the rug, on the bare cold stone floor, was where he'd found Fred.

Ron knew they'd have to pass by the spot to get to their destination, but his feet were fixed on the stone unable to move.

"Why don't we go around by Professor Vector's office," Hermione suggested quietly, well aware of the reason behind his hesitation.

"Because that would take us all the way around," Harry frowned. "This is the quickest way there." He began walking down the corridor, clearly oblivious to its significance.

Ron didn't budge. He knew he couldn't blame his friend for not remembering. He didn't know half of what had happened to Harry last night, but he knew enough to realise this corridor had probably been nothing but a blur to him.

"Well, I don't think it looks very safe," Hermione said pointedly, eyeing the gaping hole in the side of the building in an obvious effort to clue Harry in. "I think we should go by Professor Vector's." Ron felt her hand tighten around his and before Harry could even reply she took began leading the way down another narrower corridor.

This one was dark and difficult to navigate, strewn with rubble and carnage like the rest of the castle. The hulking remains of several of Aragog's descendants lined the corridors and Ron kicked at them in disgust, swearing as he went.

"What else did you see, Harry?" Hermione inquired suddenly. "In the Pensieve, I mean. What else did you learn about Professor Snape?"

"He was protecting me," Harry shrugged, sidestepping around a broken mirror. "All these years we thought he was out to get us, but he was always just trying to protect me."

"And the five-thousand points he took from Gryffindor in the last six years? The foul things he said to Hermione? What he did to my sister this year? That was all to protect you?" Ron spat, clearly not as quick to forgive as Harry.

"Don't you see, Ron? He had to," Hermione reasoned. "If he was really loyal to Dumbledore it meant he still had to act the part. Think if Malfoy or Crabbe saw him treating us kindly; what they would have told their fathers? He had to be cruel if he wanted to keep in Voldemort's favour."

"He was a horrible person! Do you not remember how he treated you, Hermione?" Ron looked at her in disbelief and horror, recalling numerous occasions she'd been reduced to tears in the dungeon and he'd wanted nothing more than to knock Snape right in the mouth. "I can't believe you of all people could just forgive him. And you, Harry! The man was - "

"She called him 'Sev'," Harry blurted out. "My mum did."

"So?"

"He was her friend. They were best friends even before they went to Hogwarts. And she called him Sev."

Ron opened up his mouth, about to object as to what a silly nickname could possibly mean, but Hermione cast him a remonstrating look, so he let Harry continue.

"And he was in love with her, so in love with her for years and years. But my dad fancied her and they were…they were horrible to him at school and he made a mistake and he lost her."

"What'd he do?"

"Called her a Mudblood," Harry replied quietly after a long pause.

"And you feel bad for him? Are you mad? Harry, he - "

"He was a teenager! And he was in love and he was angry. Like you've never done anything you don't regret!" Harry defended as they made the final turn to their destination.

"I'd never call Hermione that! Never!" Ron knew what Harry was getting at. "And I'm in - well…" His voice tapered off in embarrassment at the confession that had almost trickled out. If Hermione heard, she fortunately said nothing.

"The point is, he spent the rest of his life making up for his mistakes…his whole life was one sad mistake he died trying to avenge." Harry stopped in front of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to their destination and looked at his two friends intently. "He relayed the prophecy to Riddle and he lived the rest of his life knowing the woman he loved died because of him."

"But he's still the reason she's dead." Ron shrugged, unable to get past that simple fact and comprehend his friend's reasoning.

"And he regretted it! Did you hear what I told Riddle about his Patronus? That silver doe in the Forest of Dean that we both followed? The sword of Gryffindor in the pond that let you kill the locket? It was him. It was all him." Harry let the words hang in the air a beat. "He never stopped loving her. All these years his Patronus was a doe just like my mum's and it never changed."

Though she had already heard Harry's explanation that morning, the revelation still seemed to touch Hermione. Ron thought he even detected tears forming in her eyes again. He wasn't quite as moved by the story of Snape's undying love, however. He knew all too well what it was like to secretly care for someone for years and to be jealous and do dumb things and say things you regret, but there was a line to the kind of behaviour that could excuse. In his mind, Snape had crossed that line. Clearly his actions and remorse over the past seventeen years suddenly made him every bit the hero to Harry and Hermione though. So Ron kept his mouth shut and looked instead to the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office.

The statue didn't look as if it was keeping watch on anything, much less the entrance to the office. Like most everything else in the castle, it seemed to have abandoned its duties in the joyful events of the morning.

"Looks a bit peaky, doesn't it?" Ron remarked.

"Can we go up?" Harry asked. The gargoyle groaned a response that would be difficult to interpret as affirmative if not for the slowly rising staircase. The trio stepped forward and rode the staircase like an escalator as it rose up to the great wooden doors.

Ron's eyes gazed around the sunlit office wondrously as the doors opened wide. He had only been in here once before; when his father had been bitten by Voldemort's snake. Now that there was no sense of mortal peril for anybody, he could take in the grandeur of the regal looking office. The shelf and glass case behind the large desk where the sword of Gryffindor and Sorting Hat used to be were conspicuously bare, but the rest of the office looked as stately as he recalled.

Ron glanced beside him and saw Hermione's eyes widen at the tremendous array of rare books that rested in the great bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling. He grinned at her obvious enthusiasm, knowing she'd like nothing more than to dive into the many volumes. There was a large open book on the desk next to a small tin of mint humbugs and a long black raven feather still standing in a full inkwell. Snape had been about to write something. Ron was intrigued by the open book, but even more by the sight of the candy. Snape liked mint humbugs. For some reason that fact affected him more than anything Harry had just confessed about the late headmaster's undying love and loyalty.

Before Ron could reflect any further on the man who, according to Harry, had made their victory possible, the portraits of Hogwarts' headmasters past all sprang to their feet trumpeting the arrival of the trio. Dilys Derwent sobbed loudly from her portrait and Armando Dippet cheered wildly from his armchair. Phineus Nigellus greeted Hermione like an old friend, and Ron had to do a double take as he looked at Albus Dumbledore, who rested in the portrait nearest to them. He had known that Dumbledore was the reason they had come to the office, but still, the sight of their former headmaster resting there with tears in his eyes behind his half-moon glasses felt odd to Ron. He remembered the funeral like it was yesterday and yet, there he was before them, if only in a picture.

He and Hermione simply stood there, embarrassed by the ovation, until Harry finally raised his hands and silenced the portraits. Though his eyes expressed nothing but gratitude for the reception, he spoke, as presumed, to Dumbledore and only Dumbledore.

"The thing that was hidden in the Snitch, I dropped it in the forest." The words were hardly the first words Ron expected to hear. "I don't know exactly where, but I'm not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?"

He saw a light in Hermione's eyes as something clearly seemed to register with her, but he just looked to Harry curiously, wondering what the significance of the last piece of Dumbledore's puzzle possibly could have been. He hadn't had a chance to think about things, and now that he was here with Harry and had just heard the account of what had happened, he felt like his brain was on overload. All the events of the past few hours quickly came crashing down on him inside the office. What had come out of the Snitch and how had Harry known to open it? How exactly did he die? What did it feel like to die? Had he been in heaven? How had he come back?

"My dear boy, I do," Dumbledore spoke softly. Ron was relieved to see the other portraits looked just as confused as he did. "A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?"

"No one." Ron noted Dumbledore's pleased expression at the revelation. "I'm going to keep Ignotus's present though."

The mention of Ignotus Peverell caused Ron to jerk his head up and connect the dots. The final Hallow had been in the Snitch. Harry had the Resurrection Stone. A hope suddenly stirred inside Ron as he thought of his brother.

"But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!" Dumbledore looked quite satisfied that Harry was going to keep the Invisibility Cloak.

"And then there's this." The Elder Wand almost seemed to glow as Harry held it aloft. "I don't want it." Harry answered at least one of the many questions Ron had buzzing around his head.

"What?" Ron cried, "Are you mental?"

"I know it's powerful," Harry spoke wearily, as if the mere thought of keeping the most powerful wand in the world was exhausting. "But I was happier with mine. So…" Ron looked wistfully at the wand in Harry's hand as he watched him repair his old Phoenix feather wand.

"I'm putting the Elder Wand back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won't it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That'll be the end of it." Ron couldn't help but think it seemed as if Harry had thought on this quite a bit. Ron thought it seemed a waste to just lay the Elder Wand to rest with Dumbledore. It was the equivalent of throwing away invincibility. He was throwing away a weapon they might very well need in the future.

"Are you sure?" he asked uncertainly and for the briefest of moments his eyes flashed covetously on the wand.

"I think Harry's right," Hermione spoke for the first time since entering the office. She rubbed the back of Ron's hand with her thumb softly and the gentle reminder was enough to remind him that they had peaceful days ahead. Their days of dueling and mortal peril where they would need the Death Stick were hopefully at an end.

"The wand's more trouble than it's worth," Harry sighed in disgust and he turned towards the door. "And quite honestly, I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."

"I think we've all had enough for three lifetimes," Ron added with an equally exhausted sigh. He found it hard to believe how little time had actually passed since he'd left his brother's house outside Tinworth. He felt like weeks had passed since he'd departed for Gringott's disguised as Dragomir Despard. The brief desire he had for the wand quickly dissipated as a new kind of longing filled him. Suddenly all he could think about was the Gryffindor common room and the four poster bed that he'd longed for so much in the past year.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry looked back over his shoulder to the still smiling portrait of Professor Dumbledore. "Without the stone I wouldn't have been able to do it. Without you, I wouldn't have - "

"Thank you, Harry." The voice that came out of the portrait was no more than a whisper. "But I think it is safe to say the credit for this great triumph lies solely with you."

"Not just me." Harry shook his head firmly. "I couldn't have done any of it without Ron and Hermione."

"Hear, hear!" Several of the portraits cheered.

"Descendants of mine, you know, the Weasleys!" Ron heard Phineus Nigellus chime in boastfully.

"But of course." Dumbledore smiled. "If a man finds just one friend in his entire lifetime as loyal and true as Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger have been to you, he would be lucky indeed." Ron and Hermione both blushed at Dumbledore's words.

"Professor, how did you - "

"Ah, Harry, the time for questions, of which I am sure you still have many, will come - "

"But - "

"But I will still be here, Harry. I will always be here in this office." As Dumbledore spoke, Ron wondered if his kind words referred to him and Hermione as well. There was so much he wanted to ask. Despite not ever having had a true conversation with the man, Dumbledore had known Ron's heart better than he had himself. Ron wanted to know how he had known to give him his Deluminator. How had he known that he would walk out on his friends? How had he known that Hermione's voice would lead him back?

"Now off to bed," Dumbledore ordered affectionately then, tearing Ron away from his thoughts. Though the sun was streaming in, he knew the exhaustion on all their faces was evident. Dumbledore smiled then and his eyes twinkled at the three. "As much as I disliked them, I seem to recall the Gryffindor bed curtains to be absolutely extraordinary at keeping out the light."


	3. Chapter 3

Much like the gargoyle outside the Headmaster's office, the Fat Lady did not bother troubling them for a password. She looked as if she'd consumed several vats of wine and her cheeks had an unnatural rosy tint to them.

"Oh, bless you three! I was hoping you'd come to see me again," she greeted cheerily. "I always knew you would do great things. All those nights sneaking out of the castle," she recalled fondly, seeming to forget how much she would grumble and complain every time she had had to open up the door at odd hours of the night for them. "Oh and Vi, would you look at this!" she spoke to the portrait to her left, eyeing Ron and Hermione's joined hands. Ron was suddenly vividly aware of the fact that he hadn't let go of her hand all morning. "I was right!" she appeared delighted at the sight of the pair, "I'm always right about that. Never wrong, you know! Saw it coming with your parents a mile away," she looked towards Harry. Ron just shifted uncomfortably.

"Erm - " he looked towards the door. "Can we just get inside - "

"Yes, come in, come in." The door finally swung open and the trio stepped through the familiar circular entryway. "I imagine you'll find it much like you left it last year."

Her words were a sharp reminder that it had been nearly a year since the three had last set foot inside the Gryffindor common room. The familiar squashy armchairs were in their usual place. The bulletin board had its normal request for Chocolate Frog cards and used books; there were even a couple fliers about sale items at his brothers' store. Ron was surprised at how much of an outsider he felt like as he stepped inside the room though. Despite how many years he, Harry, and Hermione had sat in front of this very fireplace and talked about Quidditch and Transfiguration lessons, he was well aware that this wasn't their common room anymore. It had been Ginny and Neville that sat here hatching out plans this past year. These weren't their textbooks or their quills scattered around the room. And in that moment Ron knew he would not be returning to Hogwarts for a seventh year. Life had taught him in the last year more than anything in these walls ever could.

"It looks just the same," Hermione remarked, more than the slightest touch of longing and sadness in her voice.

"It looks smaller," Harry disagreed, pausing by the fireplace.

Ron stopped at the table where he'd used to play Wizard's Chess with Harry and stared at a small tapestry of three men on a broom chasing a small yellow bird.

"Has that tapestry always been there?"

"Of course it has," Hermione dismissed with a laugh. "Remember, I told you first year that the Snidget was the original Snitch in early Quidditch?"

"Obviously not," Ron remarked dryly. Hermione just scowled at him in reply. They wandered slowly around the room together. "Hey, remember our first Christmas here, Harry?" Ron recalled, looking at the place where the Christmas tree always stood.

"And I couldn't believe I'd got any presents?" Harry smiled at the memory.

"What about your anonymous singing Valentine, you remember that?" Ron grinned and they all chuckled, knowing quite well who the Valentine had come from.

"What about that monstrous Potions essay we had to write fifth year on Befuddlement Draughts?"

"Only you would remember homework, Hermione." Ron shook his head, but even he couldn't disguise the smile on his face at her recollection. She had stayed up until morning helping him finish his.

He felt like his mum when she'd come to support Harry at the Triwizard Tournament fourth year. She had wandered the corridors, recalling all the details of her time at Hogwarts (many which Ron wished he hadn't heard), mumbling about how time flies. He hadn't appreciated or understood what she was saying then, but he did now. His carefree time at the school, in this very common room, felt like it was ages ago. Memories came rushing back, but they felt a bit like memories of somebody else. He could recall them easily enough, but he had trouble believing there had been a time when his life had been that carefree.

He looked across the room to Harry, who was now standing at the bottom of the staircase to the boys' dormitories. He gave Ron a look that said quite plainly he and Hermione were welcome to stay down here and reminisce, but there was a four poster bed somewhere up there with his name on it. The thought of sleep and a warm feather bed sounded too appealing to Ron and he too took a step towards the staircase after Harry. However, for the first time all morning Hermione did not move with him.

"What?" Ron laughed at the possibility of forgoing sleep. They could trade memories all they wanted later, but sleep was something they hadn't had since departing Bill and Fleur's over twenty-four hours ago. He took yet another step towards the staircase, pulling Hermione's arm along with him a bit more forcefully this time. A look of uncertainty crossed her face as she kept her feet planted firmly on the ground.

"Don't you want to come to bed?" he asked incredulously.

It took a moment for him to hear the words himself before he realised their intimate implication.

"I didn't – I mean - just sleep – in a bed - not with me – unless – oh, bugger." He tried to forge an explanation, but soon realised the best thing he could do to help the situation was to stop talking. Hermione turned her eyes to the floor, managing a smile despite her equally flushed face. It had been a long time since the two of them had had a moment like this. Things had been so natural and easy between them for so long. But even now the careless slip of the tongue did not cause Ron the deep mortification it would have last year. Times had changed.

He and Hermione had changed.

"I just thought it'd be nice to sleep."

She seemed to take a moment to turn his words over in her head. The moment felt like hours to Ron, who shifted his weight nervously as he awaited her response. The smile was tiny, just a slight raise in the corners of her mouth and a miniscule nod of the head. Ron breathed a sigh of relief, which was probably all too obvious, as she finally stepped forward and hand in hand followed him up the staircase in Hogwarts she'd only dared to travel once before.

The suggestive nature of the action wasn't lost on Ron. While it made his palms a bit sweatier than they already were, it also felt surprisingly natural, almost as if they'd done it a million times before. Ron climbed the stairs and stepped through the familiar doorway marked "seventh years". He looked around the room fondly. To the common eye it looked just like the previous three levels, albeit a bit neater, but as an inhabitant of this very room for the better part of a year he knew it had some stories to tell. This was, for example, the scene of a particularly nasty row with Harry the night his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Here the two had agonised about dates to the Yule Ball and spoke wondrously about the possibility of a career as an Auror. He looked to Harry, who already had his shoes off and was curled up atop the neatly made bed that used to belong to him. Ron was surprised at how much the sight of his resting friend pleased him. Quietly, so as not to disturb Harry, he led Hermione over to the four-poster bed he had once occupied that now lay vacant.

"Here, look at this." He kept his voice at a whisper as he climbed onto the mattress.

"What am I looking for?" Hermione whispered back. Ron pointed to the back bedpost where he had carved the letters RBW with a Defodio charm late one night.

"You destroyed Hogwarts property!" she scolded.

"I would think you, of all people, would appreciate it," he offered with a laugh, pointing to the other bedposts that were all covered with engravings. "I was just trying to add to the history of Hogwarts!" It was the first hint of laughter from him all morning and Hermione chuckled at what even Ron knew was a lame attempt at an excuse. Harry stirred slightly in his bed at the sound of their laughter, probably a subtle reminder to the two that he was still there and attempting sleep.

"The history of Hogwarts," Hermione laughed softly to herself and looked to Ron with a fond smile.

"It's true. There's initials on here that go back at least twenty years," Ron informed. "Fred found Harry's dad's initials on his bunk." His brother's name seemed to echo around the empty bed chamber. Ron realised it was the first time he'd spoken his name all morning. He couldn't make himself believe that his brother was not merely in the hospital wing. He'd be up in no time. He'd take the piss out of Ron for bringing Hermione up to the dormitory. He'd make a quip about how ickle Ronniekins had a girl in bed. He'd be here. He had to be.

He felt the familiar sting in his nose as tears pushed against his will. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force them back inside. He didn't speak or even look to Hermione. She sat helplessly beside him, her uncertainty at how to react all too evident. Ron wished he could tell her that just having her there beside him, holding his hand, was enough. That she'd always been enough. But like that moment in the Great Hall, he couldn't make any words come out of his mouth.

So instead he turned onto his back abruptly, his hand breaking free from Hermione's for the first time all morning, and began unlacing his trainers. Sleep was the answer. Sleep would allow his body to rest so his brain could at least begin to process the events of the morning. Whenever he started thinking about them now his brain didn't know which to focus on and he couldn't even figure out what he was supposed to be feeling. There was this tremendous relief that the seemingly impossible task they had set out to accomplish last summer had finally been achieved. There was also an unbelievable joy that the dark shadow that had haunted the wizarding world for years was finally gone. Yet there was an overwhelming sadness, a despondency that threatened to overtake his entire being, when he thought about the fact that his family would never be whole again and that poor Teddy Lupin would never know his parents.

So much had been lost that he hardly allowed himself to remember the feeling of sheer elation that coursed through his entire body whenever he recalled the feeling of Hermione's lips on his. He felt guilty remembering it, for even daring to be happy over a simple kiss – no matter how long he'd waited for it – when there was a room full of sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers who would never kiss anyone again.

Ron pulled his worn jumper over his head forcefully and tossed it to the floor. He didn't know what to feel, but he knew enough to know his dozing friend had the right idea. Sleep might not solve everything, but it would certainly help. He stretched out his long legs and hoped that the way he'd conveniently placed his body on only half of the mattress was invitation enough for Hermione to join him. He lay back on the bed, both hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd been able to fall asleep without having to think about a Horcrux – what it might be, where they could find it, how to destroy it. He found it hard to wrap his mind around the fact that none of them would ever have to think about such things or even say the word again.

He heard Hermione's trainers thump to the floor on the other side of the bed. The sound seemed to echo about the room like some kind of monumental signal that she would be joining him for a kip. She pulled off her battered denim jacket next and held it up to observe its sorry condition. There was a hole above the right shoulder, the cuffs were frayed and singed slightly on one side and Ron thought he even detected a faint blood stain on the collar.

"If this jacket could tell a story," Hermione laughed nervously before dropping it on the floor. The attempt to make Ron smile a second time failed however. He was still staring up at the ceiling, almost like he was afraid to look at her as she stretched out beside him. He wondered if she'd imagined this moment, albeit under different circumstances, as many times as he had in his head. Down at the edge of the bed her feet touched his, but he couldn't tell if it was intentional or just a result of the bed not being large enough for two people.

They'd shared the same room for the last year, slept beside each other numerous times in dozens of different locations, he'd even slept by her bedside at Shell Cottage, much to Fleur and Bill's protest. But this was different and they both knew it. This was the kind of thing a couple did.

Calling upon a bit of courage, he unfolded his left arm from its resting spot behind his head and moved it around her shoulders carefully. Moving his arm around her like this felt new, different somehow than any of the countless other occasions when he'd wrapped her in a hug.

He glanced down at his own arm. There was a long gash that ran from elbow to wrist and a ghastly scrape that had ripped the skin off most of the knuckles on his right hand. He couldn't recall when or how he'd gotten either, but for the first time he realised just what a mess he was. His shoulder still bore the scars of his Splinching nearly a year ago as well as those from the brains that had attacked him fifth year. The burns on his hands that he received from the cursed treasure in the Lestrange vault still looked raw despite the Dittany Hermione had treated them with. He wondered if they would ever really go away or if they'd be like the brain scars. There was no telling how long burns from a cursed object would last. At this rate, he would look like Mad Eye Moody before he even reached his twentieth birthday.

Hermione seemed to note the battle scars as well. She touched the scrape on his knuckle gently with her finger. Ron watched with wide eyes as she began tracing the abrasions on his scarred hand with her forefinger. His eyes were so fixed on the movements of her finger he hardly noticed that she had repositioned her entire body. She was no longer on her back and facing the ceiling, but turned and facing him. Her entire leg now touched his leg, her body was now flush with his own, even pressing up against him in places. She glanced upwards and their eyes met for a moment, nervous only because they both were well aware this was something they'd never done before.

Ron suddenly became very aware of his own heart, right there, inches from Hermione. He felt it beating so fiercely, almost like it was about to break out from behind his ribcage. He thought, as he glanced down, he could even see the fabric of his shirt quaking in time with his heart. Hermione stretched her hand out and rested it right atop the heartbeat he knew neither of them could ignore.

"You feel that?" He made no attempt to hide or excuse the thumping beneath his chest.

"Yes, I feel it," she replied softly and she pressed her face into the folds of his striped shirt then with what appeared to be the tiniest of smiles. His arm tightened around her as he dared hold her a little closer then. The initials in the headboard, the questions he had for Dumbledore, the concern for Harry, quickly fell to the back of his mind. All that mattered in this moment was Hermione.

From across the room, Harry raised himself up on his elbows, suddenly very much awake. He didn't even bother to put on his glasses. He just squinted at the two of them suspiciously, like he was looking for something.

"You all right, Harry?" Ron sat up abruptly, momentarily displacing Hermione.

"Just wanted to make sure there was no snogging," Harry stated. Ron and Hermione immediately burst into nervous laughter.

"Snogging?" Ron laughed dismissively as if the matter were absurd, even with Hermione draped around his body the way she was. "Why would we be snogging?" he snorted in embarrassment.

" 'Cause you did not twelve hours ago in the middle of a war," Harry reminded them with the same squinty-eyed stare.

"Right. Yeah." Ron squirmed at the reminder of their passionate embrace last night. The three looked at each other for a beat then broke into a fit of laughter. Whether it was Harry's accusatory stare or the ridiculousness of his own initial denial that caused it, Ron wasn't sure, but it was the first time the three had shared a laugh all together since climbing out of the lake yesterday. Ron felt Hermione's chest heaving against him with each belly laugh she took and he wondered if she was aware that he could feel…parts of her moving against him. Parts he'd spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about over the past few years.

He couldn't help but be hit with the sudden memory of their first Hogsmeade trip together back in December of third year. She'd been taking off her jacket in the Three Broomsticks and she'd tugged so hard on one of her sleeves that she'd jerked her blouse right off her shoulder and he had caught a momentary glimpse of a thin white strap. He was so unused to thinking about Hermione as a girl, he'd almost asked what it was at first. He hadn't, of course, but he did spend the entire meal slurping Butterbeer and staring at her blouse. He remembered wondering why she even needed to wear a bra in the first place since the tiny bumps on her chest weren't really much too look at. In fact they were so unobtrusive he hadn't really taken notice of them again until the following year at the Quidditch World Cup when he'd gotten an involuntary glimpse down her dressing gown. He wanted to laugh as he thought of all the times after that he had sneaked looks when she was shelving books at the library or studying on the floor in front of the fire. He wondered if he'd still have to sneak looks. She hardly seemed to mind the fact that she was pressed up against him right now or that, whether it was intentional or not, he could see quite clearly down the front of her shirt.

"I mean it, no snogging while I'm in the room," Harry warned. Ron jerked his eyes up from the beautiful view and looked to his friend. The broad grin on Harry's face betrayed his seriousness and clearly told Ron he'd seen where he had been looking. "No shagging either," he added for good measure.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, the innocent warning about snogging and brief laughter they had just shared quickly giving way to utter humiliation. Ron felt his face grow hot and he didn't even want to know what ridiculous shade of crimson his ears were turning. Harry cackled from his bed, obviously pleased at the discomfort he had caused him. Ron's arm was still wrapped around her shoulders, but he refused to look at Hermione, whose cheeks had also flushed considerably at the obscene remark.

Ron could hardly believe how quickly the tender moment between them had vanished so quickly. Her head no longer rested comfortably on his chest and they sat stiffly on the bed side-by-side like two planks of wood. He glanced down at her nervously, only to see she had a look on her face akin to the one she'd had before going in to take her OWLs. She was chewing on her lip, like she was waiting to answer a question, but she didn't know what it was going to be.

"You know, I reckon there's still a piece of Voldemort in him." Ron glared at his friend's bunk, hardly believing what Harry had just said. Hermione laughed at his brief attempt to inject some humour into the embarrassing situation and suddenly turned to him with wide eyes.

"Ron, you said his name!" Her tone was almost congratulatory as she turned to face him again.

"I suppose I did." He scratched his head with his free hand uncomfortably. "I reckon I might as well start now he's dead. Better late than never, eh?"

"It doesn't seem real, does it?" Her voice had a faraway tone to it and ever so slowly she moved back towards him. The awkwardness that had briefly enveloped them at Harry's suggestive remark fortunately seemed to melt away.

"What?"

"Saying Voldemort is dead, all of this…finally being over," she returned her head to his chest and let out a long sigh. "We did it."

"We did," Ron murmured, daring to snake his arm around her a bit further.

"It doesn't feel real," she murmured again dreamily and Ron had to wonder whether she was talking about defeating Voldemort or lying on the bed with him. Neither one felt real to him.

He glanced down to Hermione, whose hand now rested on his chest again along with her head and whose eyes were slowly closing. He sensed it was the perfect moment to do something. To comb his fingers through her hair, to rub her back, to kiss her on top of her head. Anything. But he simply laid there, content to allow his chest to serve as her pillow while he tried to gather his nerves.

Everything had been so different last night. The energy, the intensity, even the blood coursing through his veins seemed to be of a different makeup. Now there was no place they had to be, no object to seek or puzzle to solve. Even the answer to the question he'd tormented himself with for years seemed quite obvious now, as he couldn't help but recall the way Hermione had pounced on him last night. Why then was his body so paralysed to act? He could manage simple things. Putting his arm around her had become so instinctive to both of them in the past year it was hardly out of the ordinary. But his mouth went dry and his tongue knotted in his mouth every time he even entertained the idea of kissing her again.

"Hermione," he called her name softly, but there was no reply. She was already fast asleep against him.

As much as he desired sleep, he doubted it would come to him easily. Being back in his old bed chamber brought back a torrent of memories. Feelings of inadequacy and failure, jealousy and rage, rows with Harry and Hermione, and lonely miserable nights where he'd all but cursed himself to sleep for his own idiocy. It seemed a generation ago that their biggest problem had once been hurt feelings and a silly school dance, yet so many of those emotions were still a part of him.

The past ten months he'd felt them all. Sometimes they'd been all he could feel. Yet there was a new feeling that bubbled inside of him this morning, one he hadn't ever allowed himself to truly feel for anyone. For years it had been clouded by all those other things, but now he could feel it stirring deep inside him. He wondered if perhaps it was that very feeling that was keeping him awake.

Sunshine streamed through the window and with a careful flick of Pettigrew's wand, he closed the bed curtains to block out the light. Still sleep would not come to him, no matter how much he desired it. Each time he closed his eyes to attempt sleep, horrible moments from last night played out behind his eyelids. First the explosion, then the smile on Fred's lifeless face, then Harry dragging him by the armpits to hide him.

Hermione shuddered beneath him suddenly and his thoughts quickly returned to her. This was a new development, something Ron had noticed at Shell Cottage. Hermione twitched in her sleep now. Not just a sporadic muscle twitch when she was slumbering, nor the violent thrashing Harry was sometimes victim to, but a trembling throughout her body that pained Ron to watch. Sometimes a noise would even sound from her mouth, a haunting sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. He hadn't told anyone about it, not even Hermione, but he had more than a hunch as to the root of the condition. She'd never done it before they'd been brought to the Malfoy's; before she'd been left alone with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ron never knew whether to wake her or not when it happened. While it was painful to watch and listen to, he feared Hermione's mortified reaction were he to explain why he'd woken her. Despite her tendency to burst into tears quite frequently, he knew this would be admitting to a kind of fear and pain that was far different. This was a kind of trauma he knew he couldn't even begin to imagine.

The faint whimper sounded from the back of her throat now and the fingers on her left hand, the one resting on Ron's chest, reached out instinctively and grabbed a handful of his shirt.

He whispered her name softly and moved the arm that had been draped loosely around her so that it now rested on her shoulder. Another brief spasm wracked her body. "Hermione," he whispered, a bit louder this time as he rubbed her shoulder gently. He didn't know what to do, he just knew he wanted whatever torment that was going on in her head to stop. Her fingers grasped his shirt tightly, like the pain was being amplified. "Hermione, it's okay." He wasn't even sure she could hear him, but he squeezed her gently as he spoke the words.

She opened her mouth then and a sound emerged then that was quite different from the last. It wasn't the plaintive whimper or distressed moan from before; it sounded very much like his name.

From the other side of his body, he reached his arm around and moved his hand on top of her hand, which was now gripping his shirt. "I'm here," he stated, clumsily trying to assure her of his presence. He doubted it would do anything, doubted she could even hear him or whether her subconscious even knew she was there with him.

The whimper sounded again. He felt like rubbish for not being able to do anything, the same way he'd felt when she'd been taken, the same way he'd felt when he'd heard her screaming. He felt like he'd failed her. And just then, beneath his own palm, he felt her fingers slowly loosen around his shirt. It was over. It had passed. And one last time, to no one in particular, he spoke her name.

"Hermione."


	4. Chapter 4

He drifted in and out of sleep throughout the morning, never resting his eyes for very long. Each time he closed his eyes he saw Colin Creevey's pale skin and Lavender Brown's maimed body. He saw the explosion and recalled, with more than the slightest bit of guilt, that Harry and Hermione had been the first people he'd looked for after the smoke cleared. Fred had been an afterthought. Now the sight of his brother lying there on the floor seemed to be permanently imprinted on the back of his eyelids. So he spent most of the time with his eyes open watching Hermione sleep and turning over the events of the past year in his head.

The more he thought about it all being over, the more worried he became about what the future now held for him. For the past seven years, summer holiday had meant Quidditch in the garden, trips to Diagon Alley and biding his time at the Burrow until it was time to return and board the train to Hogwarts. Now there was nothing to look forward to at the end of the summer. The summer would just keep on going without any place to be or any idea what came next. All he knew for certain about his future was that he wanted Hermione to be a part of it.

She was still fast asleep, wrapped around him in a way he doubted he'd ever get used to. Her arm was draped around his waist, reminiscent of the way she'd been clinging to him earlier, and one of her legs had tangled itself between his so that it was difficult to break away without disturbing her. She shifted slightly as he carefully slid out from underneath her embrace and climbed off the bed. He couldn't help but smile as he watched her instinctively nestle toward the warm spot where he had just been resting. She looked somehow smaller than normal in the big four-poster bed. They were safe here, of course, but after a year of being hunted by Snatchers and Death Eaters, he felt a slight pang in his chest at the thought of leaving her alone. He was restless in the bed though and knew if he remained there that his constant fidgeting would probably wake her. Unless it was to entwine herself further around him, she had hardly moved since speaking the word that had sounded like his name. He paused as he left the bed, hoping she wouldn't be upset when she woke up without him there, before closing the bed curtains and tiptoeing across the floor.

He had not heard Harry leave the dormitory at any point in the morning and was surprised to find his bed vacant as he walked past it. Ron wondered for a moment if perhaps he'd left Gryffindor tower completely and had returned to Dumbledore's office. He thought for a moment about going to the Headmaster's office himself and asking the many questions he still had rattling around his own head. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs however, he saw that Harry had simply sought out the solitude of the common room. He was seated in an armchair, staring into the dormant fireplace with a school robe resting on his lap. Ron knew only one person who the robe could belong to.

"I don't think she'd take it well if you resorted to thieving," he teased from behind the chair. Harry jumped back in surprise at the sound of his voice, but quickly relaxed as Ron plopped down on the couch beside him.

"No, probably not." Harry glanced down at Ginny's school robe, but made no effort to move it. "It was over there by the window. Think she knows she left it here?"

"Probably not." Ron shrugged his shoulders, quite confident from the story he had heard from his brother Bill that his family's decision not to allow Ginny to return to Hogwarts after Easter holiday had been quite abrupt and unexpected. "You should bring it to her," he offered. He knew the last time he'd spoken to Harry about his sister he had been less than encouraging and he hoped Harry would see the remark as the olive branch he intended it to be.

"Yeah?" Harry raised his head and looked to Ron then. Ron knew how much Harry had worried about her this year. He could only imagine how much Ginny had worried for him. His little sister had proved last night that she wasn't so little anymore. If she could take on Bellatrix Lestrange, he knew she was old enough to take care of her own heart. So Ron just shrugged and gave a simple nod of the head.

"Yeah."

"You know, I didn't think I'd see you for a while." Harry abruptly changed the conversation and gave Ron a knowing grin as he glanced back up the stairs. Ron ignored Harry's teasing, which he was confident there would be more of, and plopped down onto the couch.

"Couldn't sleep. Too much…here." He pointed to his head, knowing Harry of all people would understand.

"That's a first." Harry snorted good-naturedly.

"Right?" Ron simply smiled in agreement, well aware how Hermione would respond when she'd heard his own thoughts and feelings had kept him awake.

"I don't know if I'll ever quite…believe it's really over, y'know?" Harry's fingers toyed absentmindedly with the robe lying in his lap. The knowledge that Harry was still overwhelmed by the enormity of the events of the past twenty-four hours comforted Ron. "I woke up and the first thing I thought was…where's the next Horcrux?" Harry laughed at himself.

"First thing I thought was where that bloody dragon got to," Ron chuckled softly, but his laughter soon faded. "I wager it'll take a while before we get used to waking up and not having to do anything."

"I'm surprised you woke up at all," Harry teased. "I saw those curtains were closed."

"We weren't doing anything." Ron shook his head, but Harry just raised his eyebrows suggestively. "We weren't! That shagging bit was completely uncalled for."

"Just establishing ground rules."

"Not funny."

"It's bound to come up sooner or later." Harry shrugged, hardly able to stifle the grin on his face.

"Blimey, we just kissed last night, Harry!"

"But you've wanted to for how long?"

If it had been anyone but Harry, Ron knew he would have turned crimson. Instead, he just turned his gaze awkwardly onto a corner of the rug beneath his toes. He was eighteen years old. The thought of doing more than just kissing Hermione Granger had obviously crossed his mind more than a few times, but he couldn't even pluck up the courage to kiss her a second time, nevermind do anything even close to what Harry was suggesting. Besides, he and Harry didn't talk about these things. They never had. The closest Ron had ever come to talking about his feelings for Hermione had been after he'd destroyed the locket and even then, the Horcrux had done all the talking for him.

"I'm happy for you," Harry finally stated simply. "I'm just trying to take the piss."

Ron nodded his head, resigned to the fact that he and Hermione's new coupling was likely to be the butt of many of Harry's jokes for quite a while. The mere fact that his friend was joking, even if it was at his expense, pleased Ron though so he said nothing. He could put up with a bit of ribbing he knew he probably deserved. Leaning his head back against the cushions, he blew out a deep breath, perfectly content to rest there in silence. He was suddenly very aware of his growling stomach however and he thought back to the breakfast trays down in the Great Hall.

"You think Kreacher could bring us a bacon sandwich or two?"

"I don't even know if Kreacher survived." Harry remarked passively, his calm voice disguising any distress the prospect might cause him.

"Only one way to find out," Ron shrugged. Harry hesitated, looking very much like he couldn't handle the thought of learning of somebody else who had not survived the battle. "I'm sure he made it," Ron assured. "It'd take a lot more than a couple of Death Eaters to kill that old codger."

The comment made Harry chuckle and he commanded the house elf to the common room. They both waited in anticipation for what felt like a very long time before Kreacher appeared with a very loud crack in front of the fireplace. He was still proudly wearing Regulus' fake locket around his neck and sported a deep cut above his right eye, but other than that the ancient house elf appeared none too worse for the wear. Ron smiled, knowing Hermione would be pleased he had survived.

"Does the young master require Kreacher's assistance?" the elf croaked.

"Yes – er – if you don't mind." Harry tried to remain polite about ordering the elf around, almost as if Hermione was right over his shoulder watching. "Could you bring us a bacon sandwich?"

"Two," Ron cut in, knowing how quickly a single sandwich would disappear in front of him. "And some porridge," he added and Harry gave him an inquiring look at the random request. "Hermione likes porridge," he explained, glancing up the stairs to where she was still resting. "With honey."

"Right."

"And toast," Ron interjected yet again. Harry just continued to glare at him. "If she doesn't want the porridge."

"She's really got you by the short hairs!"

"It's not like we won't eat it all." Ron ignored the comment and instead reminded Harry that the last food they'd had had been a mere bit of cheese and bread at the Hog's Head.

"Right, bring us the lot of it, Kreacher. Whatever you've got in the kitchen!"

"Anything for Master Harry." Kreacher gave a low, but most genuine, bow and disappeared with another loud crack. Ron shifted on the couch and glanced back up the stairs, hoping the sound of Kreacher Disapparating hadn't woken Hermione. Ron knew Harry saw the concerned look, but he said nothing. He simply smiled and eased back into his chair, clearly relieved the old house elf had made it through the final fight.

"You think there's a chess set somewhere in here?" Ron glanced around the room hopefully. "Or you reckon all things fun were forbidden under Snape?"

"I don't know." Harry joined Ron in scanning the room, but Ron couldn't help but notice he hadn't laughed at the mention of Snape. There was a long and heavy silence as Harry looked down at the tops of his shoes, a deep look of shame suddenly crossing his face. "Nobody knows he's there," he finally mumbled, "up in the Shrieking Shack, no one knows Snape's there."

Ron shifted uncomfortably on the couch as he thought about the gurgling noises that had sounded from Snape as he lay dying in the decrepit shack. Then he thought of the mint humbugs and the full inkwell up in the Headmaster's office.

"Someone will find him." He hoped Harry would believe his lame assurance.

"In the Shrieking Shack?" Harry looked to Ron skeptically. Ron just gave an unconvincing shrug.

"Maybe."

"We have to get him."

"We'll tell McGonagall this afternoon. The professors can get him," Ron again attempted to dismiss.

"No, we have to do it," Harry maintained, his jaw set firmly and a familiar steely resolve in his eye. Ron knew his friend had formed some kind of attachment to their fallen potions master since watching him die and seeing inside his head, but he still didn't fancy going back and hauling Snape's cold and lifeless body across the grounds. He didn't dare say that to Harry though.

"I'm not going back there." Ron shivered. The mere thought of returning to the blood-splattered old building set him on edge.

"Then I'll go get him." Harry's eyes flashed suddenly at Ron's hesitation. "We can't just leave him there." Ron could hear the shame in his best friend's voice. More than six hours had now passed since Nagini had lunged at Snape and he'd bled out on the dusty old floorboards. Ron still couldn't quite make himself feel remorse for Snape, but the thought of his broken body lying there all alone amidst dried puddles of his own blood did make him feel uncomfortable somehow.

"We won't," he assured after a beat. "We won't leave him."

Harry was silent. The weight of the dead potions master and their varying opinions of him seemed to weigh on both their shoulders. Ron wished Harry could just go back to making fun of him and Hermione.

"Erm, do you still want to play chess?" he proposed hopefully. Harry shrugged and said nothing. "I bet we can find a board." Ron tried to sound convincing and offer a smile. Again, Harry didn't offer a verbal reply so Ron just rolled up his sleeves and pulled out Pettigrew's wand from his back pocket.

"No, wait." Harry grabbed Ron's wrist before he could summon the chess board. At first, Ron was afraid he no longer wanted to play, but then he saw him hold his newly repaired Phoenix wand aloft.

"Right then, give it a go," Ron grinned. "Let's see if the Elder Wand really fixed it." At his mention of the Elder Wand, Ron couldn't help but wonder for a brief moment where exactly Harry had left the wand. His mind quickly strayed to the thought of the other Hallow he'd left in the forest, but before he could dwell on it Harry summoned a chess board.

They both waited expectantly until a series of large thumps sounded from upstairs in the girls' dormitories and a plain wooden box came whizzing down the stairs. Harry looked pleased that the first spell he'd attempted with his old wand had been a success. He lifted up the box containing the board and pieces, looking for the name of the owner.

"Think they'll mind us borrowing?" Ron hesitated only for a moment before answering his own question and tearing open the box. He felt like he was unwrapping a present on Christmas morning as he set up the pieces in a hurry. Years had passed, it felt like, since he and Harry had sat down to a simple game of Wizard's Chess. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing as he scrambled to set up the board as well. The thought of a game of chess just to pass the time suddenly seemed like the greatest idea in the world.

"I hope Kreacher brings some tomatoes," Ron remarked wistfully as white moved first. "I feel like I haven't had tomatoes in forever."

"Milk. I can't remember the last time I had a glass of milk," Harry chimed in.

"Roast turkey."

"Lamp chops."

"Jam donuts."

"Treacle."

The boys traded the foods and feasts they'd missed most in their year away from Hogwarts as the game went on. Over a year without playing hadn't seemed to diminish Ron's chess skills much, a fact which seemed to disappoint Harry.

"The trifle at the Welcome Feast. That was always the best." Ron's mouth was practically watering as he said the words.

"What about Christmas pudding? I love Christmas pudding here."

"No way! Mum's Christmas pudding is way better than the Hogwarts one," Ron remarked fondly. "She used to put a knut in it and whoever bit into it could open up their presents first." He deftly moved his rook to capture one of Harry's pieces. "One year nobody found it. Fred said he reckoned he swallowed it and everybody had to wait until he shit it out before anyone could open their presents." He laughed as he told the story, but the smile quickly faded just like it had upstairs talking about the initials in the bedposts. Harry said nothing. He merely looked to Ron sadly, almost like he was waiting for him to break or something.

"It was the Resurrection Stone that came out of the Snitch, wasn't it?" Ron ignored the way Harry was looking at him and asked the question he had wanted to since they were upstairs in Dumbledore's office. "That's what Dumbledore left you in his will?" He hoped Harry couldn't detect the glimmer of hope in his eye as he spoke. He seemed a bit caught off guard at Ron's question, but nodded his head. "So you saw your parents?"

"And Sirius and Remus."

"What did they look like?" Ron asked eagerly. "Were they ghosts or were they like regular people?" He hoped his inquisitiveness would not give him away.

"Somewhere in between," Harry remarked wistfully. "They were there though. They were real. They stayed with me until the end."

"And what…what did it feel like, the end?" Ron stammered, unable to keep himself from asking. He reckoned Harry might be the only person in the world who could answer the question about what it felt like to die.

"Like getting knocked out." Harry shrugged his shoulders simply. Ron tried to think of the last time he'd been knocked out and recalled a particularly miserable Quidditch practice sixth year.

"Like getting hit with a Bludger?"

"Probably more like when you were knocked out first year on that chess set."

"So it didn't really hurt?"

"No," Harry replied immediately, "it didn't hurt at all."

Ron let out a loud and grateful sigh as he thought about his brother. Dying was painless.

His thoughts quickly returned to Harry and his "death", however temporary.

"You know -" He cleared his throat. "When I thought - when I saw - when Hagrid …" He stumbled over words, recalling once more that horrible moment when he'd seen Harry's limp body in Hagrid's arms. "I got so effing angry with you." Ron's voice broke uncharacteristically at the recollection. "You know I would have gone with you, right?"

"I do." Harry nodded his head and gave a shrug. "That's why I went alone."

"I was so hacked off," Ron repeated as he thought back to the moment that seemed like it had been days ago and not mere hours. He thought about how tightly he'd gripped Hermione's hand and how livid he was at his friend for leaving him and Hermione alone. "I don't know what we'd have done without you."

"You'd take care of each other." Harry gave an assuring smile. "You both destroyed a Horcrux all on your own, after all."

"Yeah," Ron laughed to himself, quickly getting lost in the memory of his venture with Hermione into the Chamber of Secrets. "I wish you could have seen the Chamber. It was even dirtier than when we were there. Now that the Basilisk is gone there were rats everywhere. You should have seen them all run when the water came."

"The water?"

"Yeah, the Horcrux tried to drown us. Nearly took me under," Ron replied casually, glossing over the part where the powerful current had ripped him away from Hermione and submerged him beneath the waves for what felt like minutes. "There was this huge wave and I could hear his voice. I reckon he was talking to Hermione since she's the one who was trying to destroy it." Ron recalled the brief look of torment and fear on her face as the water had swirled around both of them and dragged him away. He was oddly curious about what the Horcrux had said to Hermione. The force with which she had stabbed the cup had thoroughly surprised him as had the exhausted rage in her eyes. "You should have seen her when she destroyed it. She looked mental! I'd hate to be that Horcrux." Ron realised as soon as he said the words that they were probably the wrong thing to say to someone who had actually been a Horcrux. He glanced across the board to his friend uncertainly. Harry simply smiled.

"She's brilliant. You're both brilliant."

"And you're…you're okay with it, then?" Ron stumbled awkwardly, avoiding Harry's eyes as he swept another one of his crushed black rooks off the board. Harry's teasing comments and knowing glances were one thing, but Ron couldn't help but wonder if they were a mask for a certain amount of discomfort his friend had about being around them now that they had kissed.

"Of course!" Harry appeared to be mildly offended by the question. "Certainly been a long enough time coming."

"Right." Ron grinned, fingering a broken Knight in his hands. "I suppose I didn't help things much last year."

"Or fifth year," Harry teased, "or fourth year for that matter." The tips of Ron's ears reddened slightly. He wondered if it been that obvious to everyone but him.

"Did Ginny ever say anything?" he inquired suddenly, but Harry's teasing laughter faded away at the mention of Ginny's name. Ron doubted he was pondering his next move as he stared at the chess board intently. "I reckon she wants to see you, you know," he offered encouragement.

"She's with her family," Harry replied immediately before Ron could continue, "I didn't want to pull her away."

"They're my family too," Ron reminded him, a guilty look washing over his face that he wasn't downstairs with them at this very moment. "Sometimes it's not family you want to be with." The words hung in the air for a beat, but Harry seemed to pay them no mind.

"I really am impressed you're not still up there with her." His eyes glanced up the stairwell where Hermione rested and grinned widely. "I reckon this is the first time you've left her side since…" Harry's voice quickly faded as both he and Ron realised it was probably one of only a few times Ron hadn't been in the same room as Hermione since being forcibly dragged away from her back at the Malfoy's.

"Yeah, I reckon she's quite sick of me by now." Ron intended the comment to be a joke, but even Harry could detect some uncertainty behind the loud sigh that accompanied his words.

"Hardly," Harry scoffed. Ron just murmured in half-hearted agreement, the doubt only too obvious for Harry to detect. "Are you mad, Ron?" His voice had more of an edge to it than Ron expected. "You think after all this? After last night that she doesn't want you? The girl who's been wrapped around you like a Flitterbloom all day?" Ron managed a laugh at the comparison of Hermione's arms and legs to the tentacles of the magical plant.

"That's just it, see," he sighed. "What if after all this….now that it's over…she realises – "

"Realises what? That she hasn't carried a torch for you for the past who-knows-how-many years?" Ron's ears turned their darkest shade of red that morning at Harry's words. It sounded silly when he said it, that a person could just magically stop feeling a certain way. But the fear that had coursed through him as he'd lain there beside Hermione's resting body was that now that all the excitement and adventure that had surrounded their relationship for seven years was over, she'd somehow tire of him and anything she might have felt, or thought she felt, in the heat of a battle would pass.

"The only reason we even became friends is because I helped save her from a Troll," he offered lamely. "What if now that things are…normal." He almost didn't dare speak the words for fear he'd jinx them. "What if now things are normal, I won't have anything to save her from and she won't fancy me?" Ron's voice was hardly audible as he spoke the last words. "I know it sounds dumb," he admitted, "but sometimes I wonder if that's the only thing - that all the adventure and the danger – what if that's the only thing that ever really brought us together?" The game of chess before them was all but forgotten. "And now it's all over and - "

"And now you don't worry about saving her anymore," Harry offered simply, "now you just worry about…being together and making her happy."

The words sounded like the kind of thing Ron would expect from his mum or dad or Bill or Remus, anyone but his best friend. Ron wondered if death had brought his friend a new understanding of women and the world. The words made sense when Harry said them, but somehow when they entered Ron's head they got all mixed up.

He was about to suggest that maybe Harry heed his own advice and go down to see Ginny, but a loud crack suddenly sounded and Kreacher appeared before them holding a tray piled high with food. There was toast and crumpets, eggs and kipper, porridge with honey, sausage, marmalade, tomatoes and beans. It was the kind of feast Ron had dreamed about for months.

"Think I should wake Hermione?" He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I'm awake." Her voice rang out clearly from the top of the stairs. Ron whirled around, horrified by the possibility that she had overheard his conversation with Harry.

"Kreacher brought us some breakfast." Harry laughed at the understatement as he looked to the heaping tray that was almost taller than the tiny elf.

"You sleep all right?" Ron was on his feet and at her side by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. Hermione raised her head to look up at him and nodded with a dreamy smile that seemed to convey the words "all right" didn't even do it justice.

"Would you like to join us, Kreacher?" Hermione turned to the house elf suddenly. Kreacher's bloodshot eyes widened in horror at the invitation to dine with Wizards.

"Yeah, you were bloody brilliant last night, Kreacher! Come have a spot," Ron joined in unexpectedly, recalling all too well the incredible sight of Kreacher leading the charge of the Hogwarts house elves. Hermione looked pleased at both his invitation and compliment. "That was incredible how you took that carving knife to Yaxley's knee! I thought you were going to cut his whole leg off!" Hermione's smile turned into a slightly horrified frown at Ron's enthusiasm for the violent attack, but she turned her attention back to Kreacher.

"Won't you join us?" she invited again a bit more forcefully.

"If his master commands it, Kreacher will dine with you," Kreacher's bullfrog voice finally croaked as he peered over at Harry, making it clear that his command was the only thing that would cause him to stay. Harry shrugged, well aware that forcing niceties on a house elf would accomplish nothing.

"Only if you want to."

"Master is giving Kreacher a choice?"

"If you want to eat, then stay and eat," Harry shrugged. "If you don't, you don't."

"Kreacher would like to eat, yes," the elf spoke after a long pause, "but Kreacher must help with the dead." His blunt words jarred all three back to reality quite suddenly. In the hours since they had disappeared behind the portrait hole, the rest of the world had slowly but surely seemed to melt away. Here they could talk and laugh and eat and play and they didn't have to look at all the carnage and destruction around them. Here they were kids at school again, celebrating their victory the same way they would celebrate the end of exams. "There are many dead," Kreacher croaked and then disappeared from the common room, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione with the tremendous pile of food, but his last words echoing in their head.


	5. Chapter 5

Walking back down from the seventh floor felt very much to Ron like waking up from a bad dream, only to have it return when he fell asleep again. The warmth of the common room had been a sanctuary, a pleasant reminder of more lighthearted days. Ron had been able to stretch out on a feather bed, enjoy a game of chess with his best friend, and eat so much food he felt like he was going to pop. Now they were walking back through the rubble and the reality of what met them in the Great Hall crept back into their heads. The carnage of the battle and the long row of bodies haunted Ron and he willed his brain to focus on something else as they climbed down yet another long staircase.

He glanced down to where Hermione's hand was clasped in his, joined together the way Ron wondered they might always be. He wondered if holding hands was all they would ever do. Would he ever work up the courage to kiss her again? Or would they simply carry on like they were, cuddling, holding hands and doing everything but duplicating that wonderfully unexpected kiss?

It's now or never, right? That's what he had said to Harry. And now their lives no longer hung in the balance and they weren't waging an epic battle against Death Eaters and he wondered just how one went about kissing Hermione Granger. Did she even want to be kissed again? He worried that maybe he had been a bit over enthusiastic last night when he lifted her off the ground. Maybe he'd been awful. Maybe she didn't want to be kissed by him ever again after that. Maybe if he took her out by the lake under their favourite beech tree he could pluck up the courage to try again and see.

"Don't you think so, Ron?" Hermione pulled him out of an elaborate plan to take her on a moonlit walk of the Hogwarts grounds.

"Think what?" He jerked his attention back to the apparent conversation taking place between Harry and Hermione.

"Don't you think we should stay and help Professor McGonagall rebuild the castle?" The tone of her voice told Ron he likely had no choice but to say yes. Harry seemed ambivalent and Ron wondered whether that had to do with the number of people they were now encountering as they walked through the corridors. Teachers, parents and students were out and about now, many already embarking on the long process of repairing the castle. Some were repairing shattered glass, others had the unpleasant task of scrubbing bloodstains out of the tapestries. As Harry no longer had the cloak of Ignotus Peverell on, most people who he passed were adamant about stopping their work, shaking his hand and saying at the very least a word or two of thanks.

Ron was flabbergasted to find people wanted to shake his and Hermione's hands as well. Apparently word traveled quickly about what the three of them had been up to this year. The last time he'd felt this kind of celebrity had been following his performance on the Quidditch pitch and it felt quite odd to be congratulated in the same manner, a clap on the back and a congratulatory word, for something so much more important.

"This place was our home for a long time." Hermione looked to a wide crack in the wall where a curse had obviously hit. "It fought back. It defended us. We can't just leave it like this." She spoke about the school like it was a living thing.

"Yeah, I reckon we ought to stay and help." Ron wondered how one could even begin to tidy up such destruction. "Though you know McGonagall, she'll probably order us all to go home and leave it to her."

Harry slowed down, as if a realisation had just dawned on him at Ron's words.

"I don't have a home to go home to."

"Don't be silly," Ron replied immediately. "You'll come back to the Burrow, of course." The mere mention of the Burrow was enough to cause a noticeable lift in his step. "You too, Hermione," he invited, but she was slow to return his smile.

"I have to go find my parents," she murmured, "in Australia."

"Well…right." Ron was suddenly crestfallen. His joviality at the thought of returning to the Burrow vanished immediately at the thought that Hermione would not be there with him. "But you'll have to go to the Burrow first."

"Well, yes." She seemed in agreement with that much. "And I'll have to buy plane tickets and get things in order."

"Plane tickets?" Ron exclaimed, "You mean one of those Muggle flying machine? "

"Honestly, they're quite safe."

"I don't trust anything that flies without using magic! Dad told me about one of those aeroplanes crashing into the ocean once when I was a kid," Ron shuddered. "Sounds like a bloody nightmare. Climbing in a metal tube and relying on eleck-trick-city to fly all the way across the world!"

"Planes don't fly on electricity," Hermione corrected with a loud sigh.

"Well, just having to sit in a tube way up in the air for hours!" Ron continued to rail against the Muggle technology.

"Oh, because brooms are, of course, the most comfortable means of transportation!" Hermione laughed haughtily. Harry lengthened his stride a bit to put some more distance between himself and the now bickering couple. Any hopes he might have had that their getting together would somehow bring an end to the incessant quarreling immediately dashed. They were still the same old Ron and Hermione. The only difference was when Hermione's hand flew up in protest, Ron's hand was now attached to it.

"Maybe you're just riding the wrong broom," Ron accused, knowing full well Hermione didn't even have a broom of her own.

"Well, what am I supposed to do…Apparate all the way to Australia?" Hermione laughed at the ridiculous statement as they climbed down the last set of stairs together. They were back in the Entrance Hall where they'd been so many hours ago. The spilled remnants of the House hourglass were no longer there and the rubble was now sorted tidily into a few large piles. In the hours the three had been resting, the castle already looked decidedly different.

"Well, maybe…" Ron's voice was softer now. His feet slowed as they neared the doors to the Great Hall. He was intent on saying what he was about to before they rejoined the masses. "Maybe I could go with you."

"You'd come with me?" Hermione's voice, a combination of pleasure and surprise, sounded unnaturally high-pitched. Harry fidgeted nervously as he watched the two both get quiet and turn towards each other.

"Well, yeah," Ron shrugged as if it were obvious. Their faces slowly moved closer together. Harry looked as if he had a sudden urge to throw the Cloak over his head and disappear from the room. "I mean if you want." Ron's face was now mere inches from hers.

"If I want," Hermione repeated and even Ron could detect the admission in her voice that there was something else she wanted. Still, he couldn't make himself do it the way it had happened so easily last night. Not here with Harry looking on and half the wizarding world on the other side of the door.

"I'll have to talk to my parents, of course," he spoke suddenly and took a step toward the Great Hall. Harry sighed loudly at his hopeless friend, the exasperation evident.

"Right." Hermione didn't make much of an effort to hide her disappointment either.

Ron knew he was being ridiculous. They had spent all morning in each other's company, hugging and holding each other, clutching each other's hands, even lying on his bed together for hours. He had just suggested they travel to the other side of the world together and she'd seemed quite pleased at the notion, but somehow the thought of a second kiss still unnerved him. Hermione gave a loud sigh and, with her hand still joined in his, followed Ron through the open doors to the Great Hall.

He sucked in a deep breath as he stepped through the entryway. When last they'd left, the room had been a grim reminder of the price that had been paid last night. The Great Hall was now packed so full of people he felt like the three of them had missed some kind of memo. There were more people than he could ever recall seeing inside it. The House tables were back in neat rows and the pile of rubble he and Hermione had sat beside earlier was gone. The windows were repaired, but the most notable change to Ron was that the bodies of the fallen Hogwarts defenders were no longer there.

Ron looked around the room anxiously, disturbed at the thought that he didn't know where his brother was currently resting. As he glanced around the mass of people gathered for dinner, he suddenly realised he didn't know where any of his family was. When he'd seen them last, he'd done no more than give his dad a nod of the head from across the room, a pained acknowledgment that he had survived and was all right, but that had been all. His father had seemed to understand completely, but Ron still felt a tremendous wave of guilt wash over him that he hadn't been with his family this entire time.

"Where's mum and dad?" he asked nervously as he searched among the crowd for his family. Hermione and Harry both joined him in scanning the room for a shock of red hair somewhere. There were people there who Ron never expected to step foot inside of Hogwarts, like Tom the grey-haired owner of the Three Broomsticks, and the widow of Florean Fortescue.

Rather than try to search through the sea of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, his eyes fixed on the person he knew would be able to help him locate his family. Professor McGonagall looked as stately as ever, prim and proper in her pointed black hat. She was seated, not on the raised platform where the professors usually sat at meals, but down on the floor enjoying a well-earned dinner surrounded by students and their families. He saw Harry and Hermione's eyes both rest on the woman Ron now assumed would become Headmistress and their feet immediately began to carry them toward her.

Eyes quickly fixed on the trio as they walked toward McGonagall. Conversations quickly came to an end, people turned around to look at them, and the sound of cutlery on the plates halted as they walked down the aisle together. It was soon so quiet that, for a moment, the only sound was their footsteps on the stone floor, which only made Ron shuffle along faster. Then, much like up in Dumbledore's office, the room suddenly erupted into roaring applause. There were triumphant shouts and whistles and those on the benches closest to them even reached out to touch them as if they were the starting Chasers for the national Quidditch team.

Ron wondered how everyone in the hall could possibly know anything about their activities the past year aside from what little had been revealed up in the Room of Requirement. Those small anecdotes - confirmation of their breakout from Gringott's, the news that they were on a quest left to them by Dumbledore - seemed to be enough because the ovation didn't stop when they reached the end of the hall where Professor McGonagall sat. Ron wondered uncomfortably, as he stood there and the thunderous applause continued, whether they wanted the three of them to give some sort of speech.

He truly just wanted to find his family. He felt ridiculous standing up in front of all these cheering people when he didn't have any idea where his own family was. As he searched the familiar faces in front of him, he became suddenly aware that everyone could now see him standing hand in hand with Hermione Granger. His chest puffed out proudly at the realisation and he gripped her hand a little tighter.

"Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall's voice rang out above the applause. The noise quickly faded. "Ms. Granger." She rested her eyes on Hermione and then turned them to Ron. "Mr. Weasley." There was a reverence in her voice that Ron hardly expected to hear.

"GRYFFINDOR!" A jubilant voice that Ron recognized as Neville's cried out from somewhere in the Great Hall. Surprisingly, Professor McGonagall did not look at all displeased by the disruption. In fact, a fierce look of pride flashed across her eyes.

"This castle," she continued in an unusually shaky voice. "Everybody inside it and everybody who will ever set foot inside these walls owe you three a debt of gratitude that can never be realised." A few cheers of agreement sounded from the crowd. Ron watched uncomfortably as McGonagall paused to remove her glasses and wipe a tear from her eye. "I am proud to know you." She bowed her head to the three. "Proud to have taught you and proud of who you have become." Her eyes then turned to the packed hall before her. "As I am of everyone who played a part in the events of last night in ensuring the sacrifices of so many were not in vain."

Ron's searching eyes finally caught sight of his family at her mention of the word 'sacrifice'. They were seated together at the back end of the table where Slytherins would normally sit. He hadn't even bothered to look for them there, but as his eyes traveled around the hall he saw all the House tables were mixed up.

Professor Flitwick sat with Gryffindors at the Hufflepuff table. Ron thought he even saw Theodore Nott, a Slytherin whose father was a known Death Eater sent to Azkaban prison, seated next to Ernie MacMillan. Ernie, of all things, appeared to smile at him warmly, which struck Ron as particularly odd. He seemed to recall Nott laughing with Malfoy on more than one occasion about Hermione's blood status and cracking jokes about Muggleborns. His hand tightened around Hermione's protectively at the memory. There were a tiny handful of Slytherins scattered around the Great Hall, students who had rallied around Professor Slughorn and stood tall to protect their classmates and their school, but most of the Slytherins had run. He'd even seen Blaise Zabini join the side of the Death Eaters. Ron's whole body prickled with anger at the memory and he almost forgot Professor McGonagall was still speaking.

"The tables are a bit crowded as you see, but I would imagine we can make room for three more." She smiled and nodded knowingly in the direction of Ron's family. The anger that bubbled inside Ron at the thought of the traitorous Slytherins dissipated as his eyes rested on his family again. From the back corner of the hall they all looked to him proudly. He was so pleased to see smiles on their faces he almost forgot to be embarrassed as the hall broke into yet another loud round of applause for them as they walked back down the aisle.

He wondered when all this reverential treatment and honour would stop. He felt foolish. Everyone in the Great Hall had contributed, just like McGonagall had said. People had given their lives. They deserved ten times the amount of silly praise than what he was getting. He'd spent his whole life craving moments exactly like this, but now that it was here, he wanted nothing more than to be plain old Ron. Gone was the silly arrogance he had had back in the Room of Requirement, bowing gallantly when asked about their activities while on the run. Now he just wanted to forget the past year, blend in and disappear.

He shuffled down the aisle towards the Weasley clan with Harry and Hermione. The last time he'd seen them all together had been in the aftermath of the first half of the battle. Then he had sat with Percy, silently staring at Fred while Hermione comforted Ginny, and Bill huddled around George. Not a single word had been exchanged then. Nobody in his family had seemed quite able to speak. All Ron remembered hearing was his mother wailing into his father's arms. He'd heard his mum cry countless times before, but the sound that came from her last night was an eerie discomforting noise that resembled the desperate heaving cries of an animal in pain.

Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but she beamed at Ron as he drew nearer to the table, appearing as proud as she had when he had gotten his Prefect badge before fifth year. In fact, his whole family's mood seemed to lift considerably upon his arrival with Harry and Hermione. They all mustered smiles for the three and scooted down the bench to make room for them. Ron saw his sister, whose eyes looked as puffy as their mum's, look expectantly to Harry. Harry glanced to Ron momentarily, as if for approval, before sitting down beside her. She immediately wrapped her arms around him in a hug, the way Ron imagined she'd probably wanted to all day. Harry hugged her fiercely in return, tangling his hand up in her hair in an intimate manner that made it seem as if the past year apart had never happened.

If anyone in his family minded the display of affection they said nothing. Ron was uncomfortable only because he was holding Hermione's hand and was well aware his entire family could clearly see it. He took a seat beside Charlie and tried desperately to ignore the fact that he felt like everyone at the table was staring at the two of them expectantly, like they were waiting for some kind of official announcement about the change in their relationship or a retelling of what exactly had happened to cause them to be holding hands.

This would have been the moment when everyone was tongue tied and the twins would say something that would immediately lift the tension. But 'the twins' was a term Ron was suddenly acutely aware would no longer be a part of his lexicon.

"Way to hog the limelight, Ron," George finally offered with a pitiful attempt at a smile.

"Yeah, well, autographs will be tomorrow at noon," he replied. He was happy to see George give another weak smile, but there was no one to offer a snappy retort about signing his underpants or charging ten galleons apiece. There was only silence.

Ron turned his attention to the plates of food in front of him. The Hogwarts elves had prepared a feast unlike any he could remember and Ron would have been eager to dive in if he hadn't just eaten three bacon sandwiches upstairs. Still, the goblet of pumpkin juice looked inviting and he reached across the table to gather glasses for both him and Hermione. He poured her glass first and tried to disregard Charlie's amused expression at the chivalrous gesture. Ron's hand grazed hers as he passed the goblet to her and he saw his mum eye the way their hands both lingered a bit too long.

"You two certainly look as if you've gotten closer this year," she noted, making no attempt to disguise the smile that crept onto her face. Ron felt his face turn hot like when the Fat Lady had commented on their joined hands earlier that day. He knew Hermione's cheeks were likely equally flushed as his whole family now grinned and peered down the table at the two of them. Ginny looked especially pleased as she beamed at Hermione.

"I dare say, it's about time," his father chuckled. The sound of his father laughing and his family smiling almost made Ron forget his embarrassment. He couldn't help but think his entire family seemed cheered immensely by the distraction their new relationship offered, almost like it could help them forget the gaping hole next to George. So just like he'd taken Harry's ribbing up in the common room, Ron swallowed his protest. He looked to Hermione sheepishly and was pleased to see her meet his gaze instead of looking away in mortification. She looked equally uncomfortable, but there was also a pleasing glimmer of satisfaction on her face.

"You certainly didn't think we'd just ignore this, did you?" Bill laughed at the two. They continued to gaze fondly at each other, embarrassed smiles creeping on both their faces as the ribbing continued.

"Come on then, give us a story of how it finally happened!" Charlie implored, nudging Ron in the ribs.

"I want to know who made the first move!" Ginny teased.

"Honestly, Hermione I thought you had more sense than to date my brother," Percy piped in next and shook his head. Only George was silent.

"Will you be returning to the Burrow with us?" Mrs. Weasley offered in a welcome change of subject as she passed a tray of Cornish pasties down to Hermione. He knew she wasn't hungry after their feast up in the common room, but she took one nonetheless. He could see his mum's questions seemed to catch her off guard and taking the pastry allowed her a moment to collect herself. "Of course, I understand if you want to return to your family straightaway," his mum continued. At the mention of her family, Ron looked to her curiously. He wondered if she would mention the fact that they were living in Australia and had no knowledge of what Hermione had been up to for the last year or even that she existed. "But it would mean so much if you stayed and I dare say Ron would miss you if you didn't."

"Mum!" Ron's voice squeaked in horror, even though he knew his mum was quite right. He didn't know what he'd do if Hermione just left to fetch her parents tomorrow. Still, he found his mum's insinuation embarrassing. If he was going to miss Hermione, he wanted to tell her that much himself, not have his mum say it for him.

"If it's not an imposition, I'd like to return to the Burrow with you first," Hermione replied politely. She sounded as calm and collected as always, but he could see a faraway look in her eye.

"Of course, of course," she replied. "And you, Harry?" His mum looked down the other end of the table where Harry was seated.

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Weasley." Ron wondered if his mother realised Harry had no other place to go.

"The Burrow looks a wee bit different since you left last summer." His mum looked quite pleased with herself as she said the words. Ron's interest was piqued at an apparent change to the Burrow.

"Mum, it's really not that different," Ginny protested.

"We added a bedroom on for you after the wedding, Harry. Just off the third floor!" Her eyes twinkled happily. "It's not much, but that camp bed in Ron's room just won't do anymore and, well, with the family hopefully growing soon - " She eyed Bill and Fleur hopefully. "You've been like a son to us and, well, since we didn't know where you'd be staying after everything… we thought you'd feel more welcome if you had a room of your own."

Ron looked down the table to Ginny, wondering if his sister had had any input in the location of Harry's room. Bill muttered something about how his room had all but turned into a storage room and Charlie added with a laugh that his room had been taken over by Ginny. Ron cracked that he doubted his fifth floor room would be far behind in the remodeling process and that maybe they preferred having the ghoul there more than him.

For a moment things felt almost normal. He even helped himself to some pudding. Hermione's biting comment about his uncanny ability to eat after their feast up in the common room only put him more at ease. But then he asked the question he'd wanted to since entering the Great Hall and the comfortable mood immediately vanished.

"Where's Fred?"

He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath beside him at the sudden question. For a long time nobody said anything. His father even stopped chewing the piece of roast in his mouth. Ron felt like he'd said an Unforgiveable Curse.

"He's with Lupin and Tonks," Bill finally answered. "In Filch's office."

"Filch's office?" Ron frowned. It seemed a random place to put Fred, but also quite fitting considering how much time he'd spent there during his time at Hogwarts. "Filch ran, didn't he? He got the younger kids out and left. He didn't stay to fight."

"He came back this morning," Charlie shrugged. "He asked McGonagall what he could do to help. She was about to offer her own office."

"The teachers and staff, they volunteered their classrooms see as…well as a…" His father finally spoke, but he seemed unable to finish the sentence. As a morgue, the word sounded in Ron's head.

"-as a place for the families," Bill phrased eloquently. He spoke in a slow and controlled manner, as if unable to comprehend the fact that they were one of those families. "Offer a bit of privacy."

"Families have been arriving all day, you see," his dad explained the sudden increase in numbers in the castle. Ron suddenly felt like an outsider as his family relayed the information to him about what they had been up to while he had been upstairs with Harry and Hermione. "Professor McGonagall has opened up the castle for the time being to all the families." There was a lengthy pause as everybody seemed to lose themselves at the thought of just how many families had lost loved ones in the last twenty-four hours and descended on Hogwarts castle. Ron wondered if Jack Sloper's family had come to get him yet.

"The funeral will be Friday." His mum announced suddenly. She spoke the word 'funeral' with a surprising composure. Ron wondered how long she had been rehearsing the word in her head. He thought it almost seemed like she wanted to say it to prove to herself that she could. "At the Burrow of course," she added with a sniffle. Bill wrapped his arm around her in a comforting hug.

"When are we leaving?" Ron inquired. "Because I told Hermione I'd stay here and help rebuild the castle." Hermione appeared suddenly uncomfortable at being included in the reason he would not be returning home and she squirmed on the bench beside him.

"Professor McGonagall has assured that the faculty will be in charge of that," his mum informed, just as Ron had predicted.

"We can't just leave it to the teachers," he sputtered in protest.

"They'll be okay, Ron," his father stepped in.

"But we can't just leave this place," Ron sounded incredulously. "It fought for us! Defended us!" He echoed Hermione's words on the staircase.

"Hogwarts will be fine."

"I won't just leave it like this!" Ron raised his voice in a manner his family rarely heard, but one which Harry and Hermione were by now all too familiar with.

"We need to go, Ron." His mum's voice was trembling. "We need to take him home."

"I want to stay!" His defiant words brought his mum to the verge of tears and Ginny just glared at him, as if to say 'haven't we been through enough?' He wasn't sure why he suddenly was so reluctant to go home when he had just been bubbling with excitement and skipping through the corridors at the thought.

"Ron," Hermione suddenly said his name quietly. She didn't say anything aside from his name, but she touched his arm gently when she did. Everybody at the table noted the tender action, but nobody said a thing. 

"But you said – before – you're right –it needs us." He stammered in protest, but Hermione seemed to have an acute sense that his unwillingness to leave had very little to do with a sense of obligation to Hogwarts.

"Your family needs you," she whispered. Her words reminded him of the way all their eyes had lit up just moments ago upon his arrival, the way George had even attempted to crack a joke. George, who now sat in complete and utter silence down at the end, had hardly lifted his eyes since. Still, all Ron wanted was to go back to the common room and eat and laugh and lie in front of the fireplace with Hermione. He wanted to forget the painful silences and the glaring absence next to George.

"I don't want to leave." He spoke only to her, his words a low murmur. The rest of the table sat silently, trying to ignore the conversation between the two. He was practically pleading to her. His eyes begged her to agree with him, to put up a logical defense about why they needed to stay at Hogwarts. Because he knew why he no longer wanted to go back home. He couldn't face the Burrow without Fred. He couldn't face the thought of a funeral. "Hermione, I can't…"

"I know." She seemed to read his mind and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I know, but you have to go home."

Home. The word sounded strange to Ron as he looked to her. For the past ten months the mere thought of home had crossed his mind frequently. In the first few months of their journey he'd thought of little else. But he was no longer sure where home was or what it meant. Was he a terrible son and brother for not wanting to return to be with his family? For wanting to stay here at Hogwarts with Harry and Hermione? They'd been his home for the past year, after all. He had longed for his family so often, but as the year dragged on he had begun to realise that the Burrow was not his home anymore. Despite the temporary respite of the common room, Hogwarts wasn't home either. It was an odd thing to think about. Even though he knew he had a warm bed waiting for him back in Devon, he felt a bit like he was homeless. He wondered if all young wizards came to this realisation when they finished at Hogwarts.

"Hermione, Crookshanks is doing well," Mrs. Weasley tried to sound cheerily and change the subject.

"Crookshanks," Hermione spoke the name of her once beloved cat slowly, almost like it was a foreign word. The look on her face was enough for Ron to know that she'd all but forgotten about the cat in the events of the past year. He felt strangely justified.

"He still loves to degnome the garden, been quite a help really with everybody gone. Of course he's at Muriel's now. I already got an owl today saying she'd bring him by tomorrow. I expect she's quite eager to be rid of him."

"Don't know why, he's better than the three other bloody cats she's got," Ron grumbled in an unusual defense of Crookshanks.

"And Pig too," Mrs. Weasley looked to Ron then. "I dare say he missed you, Ron."

Ron knew what his mother was trying to do, but mentioning the little owl didn't make him want to return home any more than he had a moment ago. He had the sudden urge to get up from the table then, to leave his poor family and the Great Hall and all its inhabitants behind. He wanted at that moment nothing more than to put on Harry's Cloak and leave with Hermione. He wanted to go anywhere – to the lake, to their old Charms classroom, anywhere but here – but Hermione's hand suddenly moved atop his thigh.

The muscles in his leg quivered beneath her warm palm. He was agitated for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain. All he knew was the comfortable feeling when he had first sat down and cracked jokes with his brothers had quickly vanished as soon as his mum mentioned the funeral. Beneath the table, Hermione rubbed his leg, her fingers asking him to stay as they pressed into his flesh gently. His whole body would be tingling from the intimate action if he didn't know it was meant to restrain him. It was like her hand was talking to him. She was the one begging now, begging him to be strong and remain with his grief-stricken family. His leg continued to bounce in agitation, but her hand remained atop it and he stayed at the table until the end of the meal. She was the only thing that kept him there.


	6. Chapter 6

When the torches went out on the third floor on the way up to Gryffindor Tower, everybody save Harry, Hermione, and Ron went into an immediate panic. Ron made no immediate effort to return the light from the Deluminator in his pocket however, not even when Hermione latched onto his wrist and Harry spun around to look at him. He found the darkness oddly comforting. If it was dark then he couldn't see all the places they walked past where the railing had been smashed and the corridors blown apart and he didn't have to think about the Battle. Only Hermione's imploring gaze caused him to flick his finger and relight the torches. Nervous laughter and chattering ensued, with everyone looking about wildly to see the source of the disturbance. Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice that the light that returned came out of Ron's pocket.

Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, Ron continued toying with the instrument. If he accidentally put the lights out again, so be it. The smooth silver metal was an odd source of familiarity in a completely unfamiliar situation. Walking up to the common room surrounded by not only his entire family, but adults he was used to seeing only on Platform 9 ¾ at the beginning and end of each year was bizarre in every way.

Ron had not envied McGonagall's responsibility of finding places at Hogwarts for all the adults to stay. Many families had fortunately chosen to leave immediately after the feast. Cho Chang's father, a stern looking man with an intense stare, collected Cho as dessert had finished and Ron saw Zacharias Smith, who had pushed first years out of the way in his hurry to leave the castle last night, return with his mother simply to gather his things and then depart again. There were still dozens of families who would be staying the night however, those with wounded family members in the hospital wing or, like the Weasleys, bodies they still had to bear home.

McGonagall had initially attempted to direct everyone, current and former students alike, to the House they had been sorted into when they were eleven. However, parents who had been in Ravenclaw, but whose children were in Hufflepuff, put up quite a fuss about not being able to stay together. Shouting and chaos ensued and, unable to forcibly separate families after the traumatic events of the previous day, McGonagall simply allowed those in different houses to choose where to lay their heads that night. The result was House dormitories that were as crowded and mashed up as the tables had been in the Great Hall.

Ron knew after the events of last night he shouldn't feel resentful, but he felt uncomfortable about so many strangers entering his common room. He knew it was silly to feel that way, especially as it wasn't even his common room anymore. The atmosphere on the way up the stairs felt too celebratory for Ron though, too much like a party. That's why, even though turning them out had not been on purpose, he hadn't hurried to put the lights back on. He felt like the darkness was a necessary reminder of the panic and chaos that had swept this very corridor less than twenty-four hours ago and the people that had fallen there.

He fingered the Deluminator in his pocket and eyed Hermione. She had grown suddenly bashful on their walk up to Gryffindor Tower and seemed embarrassed about holding his hand. The action made Ron even more agitated than dinner in the Great Hall had. For years he had avoided contact with her for fear it might give way to those oddly charged and uncomfortable moments that had come to dominate their friendship. Now walking beside her and not touching her felt forced and unnatural somehow. His thumb grazed back and forth over the switch on the Deluminator as he noticed the way she kept her eye on his mum. She was walking just a few paces behind them and he knew that knowledge was what likely kept Hermione from taking his hand.

With another accidental flick of his thumb, all the light in the corridor immediately vanished for a second time and went into Ron's pocket. Shrieks of panic sounded and the herd of Gryffindors halted abruptly again.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Bill's voice suddenly hissed from beside Ron. Ron couldn't see him, but he guessed he was wearing the same look of disappointment he'd worn when Ron had shown up at his house this winter. Embarrassed at being admonished by his big brother, he quickly released the light from his pocket.

"It's not his fault," Hermione quickly replied in his defense before Ron could even stammer any sort of apology. Her earlier bashfulness quickly seemed to evaporate and she pulled his hand from his pocket and laced her fingers in his in an almost protective manner. "It's just habit."

"Yeah, it's just…habit," Ron repeated.

"Well, stop," Bill reprimanded. "You're scaring people."

Ron didn't bother replying that darkness was a stupid thing to be afraid of. He just tightened his grasp on Hermione's fingers and walked the rest of the way up to Gryffindor Tower in silence. The lights didn't go out again.

Neville seemed to be the only one among the herd of Gryffindors that knew the password, which Ron thought was a funny change in circumstance from the last time they'd been at Hogwarts. Disregarding the conversation about acquiring a keg of butterbeer, Ron weaved his way through the crowd and immediately made for the dormitory stairs. He gave little thought to how it would look to everyone else in the tower if he and Hermione walked up the stairs together until she began to squirm away from him.

"Come on, then," he laughed the same way he had that morning when they'd journeyed up the stairs together. He wanted to go up and lie on the bed again, have her use his chest as a pillow, and tangle her legs up in his like they had this morning. Maybe he could even try for that second kiss.

"No, Ron – if your mum sees – we ought to – I should stay down here," she stammered in protest.

"Why?" Ron asked dumbly, hardly caring what his mum saw.

"Just, go on up without me. I'll be right here," Hermione assured, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb softly before breaking away and letting him climb the curved staircase alone.

His tattered jumper was still lying on the floor where he'd removed it hours earlier as was Hermione's denim jacket. The top quilt on the bed was wrinkled and bunched in places where they had laid hours before. Ron wondered what his mum would do if she saw the scene, complete with their discarded clothing. It certainly suggested much more than an innocent kip.

"Well, we'll have to conjure a mattress or two." His father's voice suddenly sounded from the doorway. Ron jerked his head over his shoulder to his dad and crouched down hurriedly to fetch Hermione's jacket, hoping he hadn't noticed it. Harry had arrived behind his father, followed by all his older brothers. The sight of them all in his old dormitory was beyond strange. Ron couldn't help but think it would take more than one or two. He wondered where Neville would sleep in the dorm full of Weasleys. It would be quite rude of his family just to kick him out of his own dormitory. He had sort of saved them all today and risked his life all year.

He could hear Neville's jovial voice sound from downstairs along with the rest of the Gryffindors, new and old alike. They were a noisy and boisterous bunch. Ron tried his best to ignore the commotion as he climbed back down the stairs and scanned the crowded room. Many of the adults had not seen each other since finishing at Hogwarts decades ago and the common room soon began to resemble what Ron imagined a twenty year Hogwarts reunion might look like. Neville's grandmother, clearly the oldest in the bunch, even talked about breaking open a bottle or two of Ogden's if they could secure one from the kitchens.

Ron spotted Harry not far from Mrs. Longbottom. He was surrounded by a group of adults and was wearing the false smile that only he, Hermione, and probably Ginny could detect. Ron noticed his hand entwined in his sister's and actually managed a smile at the sight. Hermione was not out among the crowd. She was tucked into a small alcove in the wall. It was a nook she'd often used to curl up in with a book last year. She looked lost in thought, with her feet tucked beneath her body and her knees hugged to her chest, when he arrived. He wondered if, surrounded by joyous reunited families, she was thinking about her own.

"Here." He handed her the jacket in greeting only to have her startle at his words. "You left this uh…you know…"

"Thank you." Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and nervously reached into her beaded bag. She pulled out a pair of trousers and a torn maroon shirt Ron had grown much too tired of wearing over the last year and handed them both to him. "Here's a change of clothes for you and Harry tomorrow."

"Right. Tomorrow."

The word rang in Ron's head. The past two days already seemed like one long day. He had trouble even figuring out when one day had ended and the other began. Now he would go back to a normal schedule of sleeping and waking and eating breakfast. He looked at Neville's swollen face and his brother's black eye. What would the day after the great Battle of Hogwarts be like? He searched the room for George, but could not find him. What would the day after so much had been lost be like? His eyes rested back on Hermione. What would the day after kissing Hermione Granger be like?

The day after the day after, he reminded himself. They'd gone almost an entire day now without so much as mentioning that wonderfully unexpected kiss. He'd had more than a few opportunities to duplicate it, especially if he factored in the hours behind the bed curtains and that moment outside the Great Hall this evening. He doubted they would have any more tonight. The room seemed to grow louder and more crowded by the minute.

Thankfully, at least the adoration downstairs in the Great Hall seemed to have passed. Most of the adults all seemed much more eager to relive old memories from the Quidditch Pitch and detentions with Apollyn Pringle than to shake hands with him or Harry and clap them on the back. Still, it was difficult to walk in any direction across the circular room without bumping into someone and being forced to have some kind of a conversation. Always the talk would end with inquiries about the trio's whereabouts and activities this year, where they'd traveled and what exactly the mission Dumbledore had left them had been. Ron took his cue from Harry and was evasive in answering most of the questions.

He dismissively told Kenneth Towler the burns on his face and arm were merely from protective enchantments, he refused to tell Romilda Vane whether Xenophilius Lovegood was a turncoat or not, and he rushed to change the subject when Katie Bell's parents had inquired about the cut on Hermione's neck.

He knew his mother was probably pleased that the common room was so full of family and students that there was next to nowhere he and Hermione could go to be alone. Every time they so much as edged near the dormitory stairs, somebody from his family seemed to find them. Bill had even gone so far as to provide them with an embarrassing reminder about the separate sleeping arrangements for boys and girls, which made them both go pink in the cheeks. Ron had more than a hunch their mum had supplied the words. Still, if it wasn't Bill, it was Neville or Angelina. It wasn't even that he didn't want to talk to them. He just wanted to talk to Hermione more.

Weary of the chaotic environment, the embarrassment, and the notion of sitting on the sofa recounting their adventures to a room full of people, he finally seized Hermione's hand and dragged her towards the portrait hole.

"Ron, what are you doing?" She inquired, turning around to look back at the party, but before he could finish they ran headlong into a pair of middle-aged wizards. Both had wavy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that fixed immediately upon Ron. They looked at him long and hard, as if trying to place him, before quickly extending their hands.

"You're Ron. Ron Weasley." Ron was slow to let go of Hermione's hand to take the stranger's outstretched one. He couldn't tell if it was a question or a point of fact. Clearly the two had not been in the Great Hall during McGonagall's embarrassing speech, in which she'd mentioned his name numerous times.

"Erm – yeah," he replied uncomfortably, unsure of the identity of the hand he was shaking. Hermione too seemed a bit confused at the warm smiles the strangers offered.

"And you must be Hermione Granger." They both shook Hermione's hand next. Seeming to detect the pair's confusion, the man quickly introduced himself. "We're Lavender's parents."

Ron shifted uncomfortably at the revelation. They appeared to be in shockingly good spirits, which Ron took to mean Lavender was still alive. He felt guilty that he hadn't thought about her at all since this morning in the Great Hall and even more guilty when he began to wonder how Lavender's parents even recognised him. He wondered what she had told them about him. They both looked genuinely pleased to meet him. Mrs. Brown even reached out and touched his arm gently.

"Lavender always spoke so fondly of you."

Shamefully, he averted his eyes from their warm smiles. All he could think about was how he'd treated their daughter last year. He'd enjoyed snogging her for the first month, but after that she became more of an accessory than a person he actually cared about. Snogging her just became something to do, like playing Snap or practicing Quidditch. When he'd tired of that, he'd spent most of his time trying to avoid her. He had no idea if she'd told her parents about how he'd acted. If she had, they certainly didn't seem to mind.

"You know, my brother, Bill, was attacked by a werewolf," Ron sputtered suddenly, eager to keep the conversation away from his relationship with their daughter, most of which he was confident the tall muscular man in front of him would not approve. "Last year - it was the same werewolf actually, and he got…mauled - like completely mauled." Hermione looked to Ron in horror, wordlessly telling him that speaking of maulings and their daughter's attacker was highly uncouth. Ron continued on despite her admonishing look. "He's just fine now. Likes his steaks a bit rare, but he's fine…just fine. Got married last year and all that, I reckon he'll probably have a kid soon." Hermione and the Browns both looked a bit unsure how to respond to Ron's nervous ramblings.

"Yes, she's going to be okay," Mrs. Brown smiled warmly. "She was only bitten on her neck and her wrist. Most of her other wounds are, well as awful as they are, they're only clawmarks and will be easier to heal." She spoke with a great deal of composure. The words were still a bit jarring to Ron, graphic reminders of the damage he'd seen with his own eyes that morning on her hands and face. "Fortunately, Madame Pomfrey said she developed a new treatment for werewolf wounds last year."

"Right, that was for – that was with – that's because of my brother." The Browns both smiled again at his nervous stammering.

"Parvati has been down with her. We've just come to bring her some of her things," Mr. Brown interjected and motioned with his head toward the common room. "They haven't changed anything? Girls are still the staircase on the right, correct?"

"Yes, Lavender's bed is the first one on your left at the top of the stairs," Hermione replied helpfully. The Browns both smiled appreciatively. For a moment, Ron feared she was going to lead Mrs. Brown inside and leave him standing there alone with her husband.

"Tell Lavender we'll come by and say hello," he sputtered suddenly. He didn't know why he'd said it. He reckoned it was more just to fill the awkward silence between them and because it sounded like the right thing to say than anything else. Hermione looked to him with wide eyes, looking thoroughly surprised. Even the Browns looked taken aback.

"I'm sure she'd like that." Mrs. Brown didn't look at all convinced that he would carry through with the words. She simply nodded her head and smiled before disappearing into the chaos of Gryffindor Tower with her husband.

Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything for a moment, their thoughts both likely occupied with their poor classmate covered in claw marks and lying in the hospital wing. Finally, Hermione spoke.

"Why did you say we would go visit her?"

"I dunno, I reckon we should," Ron shrugged awkwardly, hoping Hermione wasn't suddenly jealous of the fact that he felt a sense of obligation to visit his maimed ex-girlfriend. "It was awfully brave of her to stay and fight. I didn't know she had it in her."

"She's a Gryffindor," Hermione responded plainly.

"Yeah, but Lav was…" Was always a bit daft, he'd meant to say, but his voice fell away quickly as he saw the look on Hermione's face. He was afraid that his mention of Lavender had set her off, but was surprised to see she looked thoroughly nonplussed at the affectionate way he'd referred to her. She looked much more offended by the fact that he had been about to suggest she was a bit dim. He wondered if she felt as guilty as he did. He had never heard Hermione refer to Lavender in a flattering way before.

"I think she was brighter than she let on."

"Well, nobody looked bright with you around," Ron laughed, taking Hermione's hand in his and leaning into her shoulder playfully like he'd wanted to since leaving the Great Hall. Once again, being alone with her quickly pushed aside all the other thoughts floating around his head.

"Just because I was the only person who ever did the reading - "

"If we got assigned a chapter to read you read the entire book three times."

"I like to be thorough."

"You read all the books before we even got to Hogwarts."

"I wanted to be prepared!"

"You did the homework before it was even assigned!"

"You never did the homework even when it was assigned!"

"Oh, I think I did just the right amount of homework, thank you," Ron replied with a smile. The talk of schoolwork and their friendly bickering was strangely comforting. For the briefest of moments, he wondered what seventh year would have been like if he and Hermione had been here at Hogwarts. Would they have gotten as close as they had this year? Would they walk the halls hand-in-hand and sneak off to empty classrooms at odd hours of the night? His mind drifted at the possibilities as he led her halfway down the staircase, trying to recall where the closest empty classroom even was. Glancing behind to make sure no one else was about to walk through the portrait to join them, he simply opted to lower his body onto the stone and take a seat here on the steps.

"Why are we out here?" She asked what Ron figured was all too obvious.

"Just wanted a bit of…" He licked his lips thoughtfully, unable to tell her the simple truth. He wanted to be alone with her. "It was just getting crowded in there."

"I suppose it was." Hermione sighed in agreement. "It feels a bit odd having everyone's parents here, doesn't it?" He could see her own mention of parents had caused a brief look of sadness to wash over her face. He could only nod his head in agreement. "Do you think the enchantments on the stairs are still up?" she asked suddenly. Wondering what she could possibly be suggesting, Ron looked to her curiously.

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"It's just with so many families in the castle and only so many beds, you'd think they might lift them to house more people."

"Oh…yeah." He was embarrassed that perhaps she had seen his mind had strayed at the mention of the girl's dormitories. "Well, I'm not about to test them again." He could only imagine his mother's wrath at catching him trying to creep up the stairs to join Hermione. "No way."

"It's a bit silly, isn't it?" Hermione's eyes blazed in a manner Ron was used to seeing when she spoke of the plight of the Hogwarts house elves or a similar injustice. "To think that girls aren't just as likely to go into the boys' rooms."

"Yeah, I suppose." Ron thought he detected a bit of mischief in her eyes as she seemed to recall entering the boy's dormitories with him that morning. "Reckon it's a bit of old magic. You know back before girls went and did things for themselves."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, like destroying horcruxes and jumping on top of dragons," he grinned.

"Must be." Hermione returned his smile and let out a deep sigh. She dropped her head onto his shoulder then for what felt like the millionth time that day. They rested like that in silence for a while. Ron's mind drifted back to how the morning had started and how much had managed to happen in not even twenty-four hours. His thoughts for some reason strayed back to Lavender Brown and the monster that had caused her such harm.

"It was Wingardium Leviosa," he mumbled suddenly. Hermione offered no response and her head did not move from its new favorite resting spot so Ron continued. "With Greyback – the piece of Lachlan the Lanky," he explained further and nodded to the place where Lachlan used to stand. "It was Wingardium Leviosa."

"You mean - " Hermione raised her head, suddenly realising what he was confessing.

"How I killed him, yeah." The words felt strange coming from his lips. He'd killed someone. He'd taken a life - a nasty, vile, disgusting life - but a life nonetheless. "Neville and I both stunned him and he was down and I could have just left him, but I saw this great big piece of stone lying there – a bit of Lachlan's head, I think, and I just… - " His voice drifted away absently and, of all things, a crooked smile appeared on his face. "It was easy. Just like the troll first year, really," he recalled. "But I wanted to do it. I could have left him, but… I wanted to kill him."

"That doesn't make you a bad person, Ron." Hermione seemed to detect the guilt in his voice.

"I wanted him to die," Ron muttered again and he couldn't lift his head to face her at the confession. The light-hearted nature of their early conversation about homework and assignments was all but forgotten. "I remember what he…" Ron started to speak, but he couldn't complete his sentence. He couldn't even give make himself recall the disgusting things Greyback had said about her back at the Malfoy's. He couldn't even give voice to the possibility that Greyback might have gotten to her. Because that's really what had made him drop the heavy piece of stone onto his head. He remembered all too well the relish in Greyback's voice at the thought of taking her back at the Malfoy's. The words had echoed in his ears as he looked to the stunned werewolf sprawled out on the floor. So he'd done it. He'd killed Greyback in an attempt to insure that he never got the chance to so much as smell Hermione again. And a small piece of Ron had delighted when the werewolf had dropped to the floor with a sickening crunch and grey matter and blood had gushed from his now flattened skull.

A surge of protectiveness swelled through him then and he lifted his eyes finally to look at Hermione. They hadn't talked about what had happened at the Malfoys', not about what she'd been through, and especially not his frantic reaction. Ron wanted to tell her he'd never let anything happen to her, never let anyone or anything hurt her as long as he stood on this earth. But all he could do was gaze at her. Hermione appeared at a loss for words. He wondered if she realised he'd killed for her as she stumbled over syllables and averted her eyes from the intensity of his stare.

"Hermione." He said her name with a strange and quiet confidence then and lifted his fingers to her chin. But no sooner had he spoken her name then somebody else did. It was his mother's voice sounding from the portrait hole.

"Hermione! Ron!" He dropped his hand from Hermione's cheek and tried to ignore the look of disappointment he could detect on her face. "There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you." Ron had no doubt as his mother spoke the words that she had probably been the only one searching for them. She eyed them warily, likely taking notice of the close proximity of their bodies and the way they were both leaning towards each other.

"We'll be in in a minute, mum," Ron tried to keep the edge off his voice. Mrs. Weasley made no effort to keep the edge off hers however.

"You'll be in now."

After ten months on the run fighting for their lives, after the last twenty-four hours especially, Ron felt ridiculous being summoned to bed by his mother. He detected a faint pink tinge to Hermione's cheeks as she immediately rose up and shuffled by her. He, on the other hand, was slow to get to his feet and he did not avoid his mum's eye as he passed by and re-entered the common room. He was quite a bit taller than her now and looked down at her with obvious displeasure. She hardly seemed ruffled and just clucked at him to hurry back inside.

The circular room was still crowded to the point where it looked as if several people had conjured their own squashy armchairs. Ron could smell the distinct aromas of butterbeer and firewhiskey, but he ignored their inviting smells along with Neville's jubilant invitation to join him and a handful of former Gryffindors reuniting by the fire. He paused at the back of the room where Hermione stood at the bottom of the girls' staircase.

"Goodnight then," he offered awkwardly, knowing his mother's eyes were still on him. He could detect an all too familiar look of disappointment on Hermione's face. "I'll uh – I'll see you tomorrow." The obvious words sounded lame coming from his lips and he just turned abruptly and marched up the stairs.

The rest of his family had all beaten him to bed, apparently oblivious to the celebration going on below as well. Ron crept quietly around the mattress Bill had conjured on the floor and shook his head at the odd sight of his father in a Hogwarts bed. He stripped down to his pants, suddenly very much aware of the fact that he was wearing the same set of clothes he had left Shell Cottage in days ago. He was unsure what tomorrow would hold, but hoped that perhaps a shower and fresh clothes would fit in somewhere.

He felt surprisingly lonely as he crawled underneath the covers of the bed. He'd grown so used to Hermione's touch all day, he felt oddly naked without her beside him. It wasn't just the physical contact of feeling her skin against his either. He was surprised at how much he had grown used to just having her nearby. For the past year he'd been able to listen to her breathing deepen as she drifted off to sleep or hear her turn restlessly in her sleeping bag. Now all he could hear was Charlie's snoring and the bed springs creak as his dad shifted positions.

He knew it was merely one night and he'd have to get used to it. After all, they'd hardly be staying in the same bedroom back at the Burrow. Still, after their afternoon curled up together atop this very bed, he couldn't help but think about his words to her about finding her parents and traveling to Australia. And he drifted off to sleep and wondered what it would be like to fall asleep next to Hermione every night.


	7. Chapter 7

He was the kind of sleeper who could sleep through anything. Hermione and Harry had both been amazed at his uncanny ability to do so during the past year. Howling winds, loud stinging rain, locomotives that rumbled by at odd hours of the night, sirens, and fog horns did nothing to infringe on his sleep while camping. Yet this morning, the first hint of sunshine into the room had awakened him. He'd forgotten to draw the curtains when he crawled into bed last night and as soon as the rays hit his eyelids they fluttered open. He had to take a moment to remind himself where he was. He didn't have to check the fire or check the enchantments or draw more water. There were no Horcruxes to find, no Snatchers to watch for. They were done.

Finished.

Ron almost felt a smile coming on. Then he looked around the room at the many filled beds and the mattress on the floor. There was Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, sick with the realisation that was what was left of his family. They would never be whole again.

He would give nothing more than to continue lying on this bed for the rest of the day and let his body recharge. He hadn't even stopped to realise in the chaos of the Battle that he'd been on his feet for hours on end. He'd been hit with hexes and slammed into a wall, nearly drowned, and sprayed with broken glass. He was sore in places he didn't know he could be. His arms and shoulders and back and legs, every inch of him, ached. Lying here surrounded by his incomplete family made his stomach churn though. So he chanced the fact that nobody else was awake at this early hour and crept quietly past Harry and Percy and George, and down the stairs.

A female form was in the common room, resting in the very same chair Harry had been in yesterday. Ron stopped short at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing nothing but his shorts and a vest and was somehow uncomfortable at the thought of any girl, but one girl in particular, seeing him in so little. He relaxed upon seeing it was only his sister and continued down to the common room. awaiting the sarcastic comment he was sure she was likely to launch his way about his lack of clothing. Surprisingly, she said nothing. She looked him up and down, but didn't say a word.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ron broke the silence and settled onto the couch like he had yesterday with Harry. Ginny shook her head, her eyes trained on her brother. "Me either. Tried counting mooncalfs and everything," he sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes, wondering if Ginny noticed the deep bags under them. "Are they - mum and Hermione - are they still asleep?" he inquired softly. Ginny merely nodded and Ron couldn't help but notice it looked as if she had something else on her mind.

He wasn't quite sure what to say to his sister after everything. They hadn't really had a moment alone together in the past day. She seemed like she wanted to speak to him and he wasn't sure whether he speak first. He pulled a pillow onto his lap and fixed his eyes on a tapestry behind his sister. There was a noble lady at the center of the deep red and blue with a unicorn on one side and a lion on the other. There were French words at the top he vaguely recalled Hermione translating for him years ago, but he couldn't remember what they meant. This whole common room was full of things Hermione had told him about – the framed painting above the corner table, the globe on the lowboy, there was even a story behind the bronze chandelier. He hadn't thought about it at all yesterday, how much she was a part of every bit of this castle and every memory of his time here.

"She talks in her sleep," Ginny spoke suddenly and the way she looked at Ron told him he needn't ask who she was referring to. "She never used to do that." Ron knew Ginny spoke as someone who had shared a room with Hermione countless times over the years.

"A lot of things change in a year," he tried to dismiss.

"She says your name in her sleep," Ginny clarified, "like she's calling for you." Ron sucked in a deep breath through his nose and tried not to let the comment rattle him. That syllable that had sounded like a word yesterday morning really had been his name. She said his name in her sleep. The simple fact that she'd called for him and he hadn't been there caused a pang deep in his chest. He had trouble trying not to remember the last time Hermione had called for him.

"Did mum hear?" he murmured, trying to push aside the guilt. He could see his sister was surprised that he made no attempt to deny what she'd said.

"I don't think so." Ron made no attempt to hide the look of relief that washed over his face. "What happened to her?" Ginny implored, raising her voice considerably from the hushed tones they'd been speaking in. Ron kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the ceiling, still avoiding Ginny's imploring gaze. He knew this would happen. He knew the questions would start. "It sounds like she's scared or in pain or something." Her voice was thick with concern, but Ron still remained silent and refused to answer or even look at her. "What happened?" Ginny pressed again, her words a bit louder this time. Ron simply closed his eyes. "Tell me!"

"Blimey, Ginny, pipe down!" he hissed angrily at her raised voice and looked to the stairs warily.

"Pipe down?" she snorted. "That's all you can say?"

"Yeah, that's all I can say."

"You're unbelievable!" Ginny cackled in disbelief. "You three and your effing secrets!" The remark caused Ron to snap his head around and finally look toward his sister. She and Harry had seemed quite happy last night, but there was a genuine anger behind her words now that alarmed him. He wondered what kind of conversation they had and what Harry had refused to tell her. Truth be told, he was touched by her concern and fierce loyalty. He should expect no less from her. His sister had turned into quite the fiery young woman. Still, Ron figured whatever was making Hermione talk in her sleep, and he had more than a hunch as to what it was, was for Hermione to tell and not him. "Something happened to her. I know it did."

He remained silent, but his pained expression gave him away. He knew his sister could tell her suspicions were right so she continued to press.

"Was it Snatchers? Or Death Eaters? Was it…V-Voldemort?" she hesitated only slightly before stammering out his name. "Please, tell me. It's awful to listen to her like that."

"Like it's easy for me?" Ron finally snapped, his eyes suddenly ablaze. "To hear her like that and not be able to do anything…you have no idea…" Ron's voice drifted off as he recalled the helpless feeling of hearing Hermione's desperate screams echoing about the cellar and not being able to do a single thing. He knew Ginny could detect that he was speaking about much more than just the murmuring in her sleep and he quickly averted his eyes. He returned his attention to the tapestry with the unicorn and the lion and the words he couldn't translate, À Mon Seul Désir.

For a long time neither said anything. Ron had never talked to his sister about his feelings for Hermione. The way she'd teased them both at dinner last night conveyed more than just a slight inkling of their feelings for each other. He wondered if Harry had said anything to her last spring. His best mate's merciless teasing the past twenty-four hours indicated he'd long known Ron had carried a torch for Hermione. Perhaps, like Harry, Ginny had just figured it out for herself. Either way, he knew he'd just given himself away completely with his last words.

"I think you must do something," Ginny finally offered quietly. "You must do something or else she wouldn't call for you."

The surprisingly supportive words caused Ron to finally turn his eyes from the tapestry and look back to his sister.

"It's just not my place to say," he sighed. "If Hermione wants to tell you, so be it. But I can't. It's not…I just can't."

"So something did happen to her?"

"A lot of stuff happened this year." Ron sighed wearily, running his hands through his overlong hair.

"She's one of my best friends, Ron."

"Then maybe she'll tell you." He gave an honest shrug. "But please don't ask her about it. Please."

He knew his father had eyed the mark where Bellatrix Lestrange had held a knife to Hermione's throat last night at dinner. He knew they all could see the burn scars from the treasure. It was only a matter of time before questions like Ginny's started flooding in. For now, he wanted to do all he could to prevent reliving the events that had been difficult enough to endure the first time though. For now, they'd just try to forget.

Fortunately, Ginny did not seem particularly eager to talk any further either. Ron wasn't sure how much Harry had told her and he wasn't sure what he was allowed to say now that their ordeal was finally over. He wanted to tell Ginny how Harry had taken comfort in her discarded robes yesterday, how often he'd seen him gazing at her dot on the Marauder's Map this year, but he said nothing. They simply sat in silence while the rest of Gryffindor tower gradually awoke to face the morning after.

The lingering effects of the firewhiskey that had been ingested in such copious amounts last night were still obvious on many who staggered down the stairs. Oliver Wood didn't even offer a good morning. He simply stumbled toward them in his underwear, belched loudly and then plopped down on the couch beside Ron. He congratulated Ron then, not on the part he had played in helping bring down Voldemort, but on being Gryffindor keeper and helping win the House Cup two years in a row. Ron was grateful for the change in conversation. Wood appeared more than happy to discuss Keeper tactics with Ron and answer Ginny's questions about what it was like playing with Puddlemere United and if Benjy Williams really did wear the same pair of socks all season long. Ron hadn't had an innocent talk about Quidditch since last spring before the final game versus Ravenclaw. The lighthearted discussion was a welcome change.

The rest of the morning was a decidedly somber affair however. The conversation as the rest of his family staggered down the stairs was a horribly awkward mixture of useless pleasantries about the weather and the quality of Hogwarts mattresses and discussion about when they would be departing for the Burrow. Breakfast was the worst. All his mum and dad could talk about was when they would collect Fred, where he would go, who would contact the undertaker, how they would transport him. Ron hardly touched his kipper and remained silent throughout the meal. Hermione had to keep her hand pressed down on his leg like she had last night to keep it from bouncing. He was quite confident that both his eldest brothers could see the action, but neither said anything.

He knew Hermione was well aware he wanted to remain in the castle. The way he'd dragged his feet out of the common room and left Gryffindor tower behind that morning made it all too obvious. Professor McGonagall's announcement that the Hogwarts Express would be transporting them back to London raised his spirits slightly, but they were quickly dashed when she informed them that an additional coach had been added to transport the dead.

The solemn words only served to remind Ron of the promise he and Hermione had made last night to Lavender's parents to visit the hospital wing. While he knew it wouldn't be a pleasant affair he was looking forward to it in an odd way. Amid all the chaos and the odd mixture of mourning and celebration, he doubted many were making a trip to Madame Pomfrey's a priority. The castle seemed divided into those too stricken by their own grief to think much about anything else and those so delighted by their triumph everything else seemed insignificant. Ron wasn't quite sure where he fit or his family for that matter.

Harry had left right after breakfast with McGonagall to go visit the White Tomb and return the Elder Wand to Dumbledore. Ron knew he planned on telling her about Snape as well and he secretly hoped McGonagall would insist on fetching her fallen colleague herself. He still didn't fancy returning to the Shrieking Shack to fetch the body of a man he despised. When he'd confessed that much to Hermione she'd launched into a diatribe about why Ron needed to appreciate and honor the sacrifices of Severus Snape.

"I don't understand why you can't see that he had to do it," she maintained as they sat on an empty bench in the Great Hall, looking out at the newly repaired fireplace. She sounded thoroughly exasperated that he hadn't had a complete change of heart in the past twenty-four hours.

"I don't understand why you can't see that he didn't have to be a complete wanker." Ron was equally exasperated. "He didn't have to be so horrible to everyone."

"But he did! People in our Potions class had parents who were Death Eaters. People who spoke to Voldemort on a daily basis," she argued.

"I don't get it. He treated you worse than anybody, Hermione."

"It made me stronger," she stated firmly.

"No, it made you cry!" Ron snorted. "That doesn't make you stronger! That just makes you cry!"

"We can't make Harry go and get him alone." She returned to the argument she knew Ron couldn't say no to.

"I know," he replied un-enthusiastically. "I just don't want to spend the entire walk there talking about what a hero he was."

"How can you not see how brave he was?" Hermione cried then, so loudly that other people still lingering in the Great Hall after breakfast turned to look at them. She brought her voice back to a whisper. "He was loyal to Dumbledore - "

"And he killed Dumbledore."

"Because Dumbledore asked him too," she reminded. "He lived his whole life alone, not caring that everybody hated him."

"Gee, I wonder why they hated him," Ron grumbled. "It couldn't have been because he treated everybody like complete rubbish."

"He risked his life every day for all of us!"

"Just because he was in love with Harry's mum! Not because he loved all of us. And oops! Oh yeah, he betrayed her and got her killed."

"And felt regret!"

"So he spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it and get revenge? So what? He still got her killed!"

"So he deserved to die like he did?"

"I didn't say that," Ron sighed.

"You didn't have to," Hermione snapped crossly.

"What are you two fighting about now?" Ginny's voice sounded suddenly as she appeared behind them.

"Nothing," Ron dismissed, though one look at Hermione's face told him their conversation was far from over. He wondered how many times they would have it before they just agreed to disagree. "Is Harry back?" he changed the subject abruptly, "did he talk to McGonagall?"

"He did."

"Is he ready to go?" Ron steeled himself for the long walk to the Shrieking Shack.

"Actually, he wants to go alone," Ginny informed, puffing her chest out a bit at the words. Ron thought about their conversation earlier and how angry she'd gotten about the secrets they kept. He couldn't help but think she sounded a bit pleased with herself that she finally knew something about Harry that he and Hermione didn't.

"Alone?" Hermione's forehead creased worriedly. "Why?"

"I think he wants to do this on his own," Ginny informed. "Anyway, mum and dad said the train to King's Cross is leaving Hogsmeade at eleven. They're going to Filch's office now to…" her voice drifted off. Ron watched her swallow whatever words she'd been about to say and gather her strength. "They're getting Fred ready to come home."

"Are we taking him home?" Ron felt suddenly ill at the thought. "Isn't…well, I thought somebody else was in charge of all that. Why do we have to take him? "

"Because there's too many," Hermione answered quietly, "there's too many for Mr. Underhill to take himself." The mention of Mr. Underhill, the kindly old undertaker who suddenly had more business than he ever wanted, made Ron stiffen. He swallowed the now familiar lump that formed in his throat that formed whenever he thought about how many had been killed, but tried to look strong as he saw both Hermione and Ginny's eyes start to glisten with tears. He wondered when a time would come when any of them could go an hour without wanting to cry. Every time he started to feel halfway normal something else would come crashing down and remind him that the world would never feel normal again. Not as long as his brother wasn't it.

"Anyway." Ginny steeled herself suddenly and stood up straight. "The boats and the carriages obviously aren't running so they said be ready to walk over to the station together by ten."

"Where are you going?" Ron frowned.

"With Harry." Her voice echoed behind her as she marched away.

"But I thought he wanted to be alone?" he called to his sister's back, but there was no reply. He sat and watched her leave, suddenly reminded of all the times Harry had told him he was studying alone in the library last year only to find out later from Hermione he had in fact been studying with Ginny.

"They sure don't seem to have missed a beat, do they?" Hermione remarked, seeming to be thinking the same thing.

"Yeah, did you see them last night?" Ron recalled how affectionate the two had been. It really had felt like the end of sixth year all over again. "Snogging in the corner when mum wasn't looking?" He gave a snort and shook his head, but the mere mention of snogging caused him to think about him and Hermione's own lack thereof. She seemed to be thinking the same thing and an awkward silence ensued. He looked down at the top of his trainers. "Do you want to…er…"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to go to the hospital wing?"

Ron wasn't even sure why he'd blurted it out. He just felt like he needed to say something, anything so that the last thing he said hadn't been about snogging. Hermione's disappointment was obvious.

"You know, to go see Lavender?" he explained further, but the mention of his ex-girlfriend didn't help remove the look of dissatisfaction on Hermione's face. Merlin's beard, he was making a right mess of things. "Just because, you know, we told her parents we would." He wasn't even sure why he was still talking anymore.

"Right." Hermione nodded her head.

"And – and also Seamus told me last night that Lee got both his arms broken," he added quickly in an attempt to repair the damage. "And I heard old Dung showed up and lost a hand dueling Macnair."

"Don't you think you ought to go be with your family?" Hermione asked quietly.

Ron turned the query over in his head. Did he want to go see his family? Did he want to go see his brother, currently wrapped in a sheet and lying on the ground in the office of a man who hated him? Did he want to talk about funeral arrangements and how they'd transport him back to the Burrow?

"No," he remarked sharply. "No, I want to go to the hospital wing."

Hermione's eyes carefully searched his. Her face held the same expression it had after he'd been Splinched last fall. Not in the immediate aftermath when her hands had been trembling and her eyes full of tears, but in the days and weeks afterward when she had tended to him, adjusting his sling, applying the Dittany twice daily, and asking him all the time how he felt and what he was up for. She took in a deep breath and gave a restrained nod of the head. She laced her hand in his and stood up from the bench suddenly.

"If you want to go then…let's go."

…..

Ron tried not to to piece each fallen bit of masonry with a memory as they walked the corridors, but it was difficult not to do so. He recalled where Peeves had dropped a Snargaluff plant that had, in gruesome fashion, literally squeezed off the head of a Death Eater. He passed another spot where he vividly remembered seeing another Death Eater use the Cruciatus curse on a short blonde witch in a Hufflepuff sweater. Ron recalled wanting to stop and do something, but being forced to continue on. He wondered what had happened to the little blonde witch. He couldn't recall seeing her among the dead. He wondered if perhaps she would be in the hospital wing with Lavender.

Hermione looked increasingly pale the closer they drew to the hospital wing. He wondered if she was reliving the same moments from the battle as well. He knew she'd been distressed at how little they'd actually been able to intervene and how many people they'd had to walk by when Ron knew all she'd probably wanted to do was help.

"What?" He noted her peaked expression as they neared the large oaken doors they'd spent nearly as much time behind during their years at Hogwarts as some classrooms.

"I just…I feel a bit odd about going to see her," she admitted with a loud swallow, stopping short of the doors.

"Who?" Ron asked stupidly and Hermione just gave him a knowing look.

"It's just that I spent so much of last year being so angry with her, hating her." She gave a pathetic laugh and looked rather ashamed. "Probably the same way you hated Viktor." Ron opened up his mouth to speak, but she silenced him with a look that told him this was not the time to deny the nature of his extreme dislike for a certain Bulgarian Seeker. "And every night last year when she came upstairs I had to listen to her go on about …well..." Her cheeks flushed as she left the rest of the sentence up to Ron's imagination. "I just spent so much time resenting her is all and now - " She turned her eyes to the doors as if picturing Lavender lying on the other side. "Now I just feel so bad for her."

Ron was quiet. He debated cracking a joke about how he might have warmed up to Viktor Krum if he'd stood up to Voldemort and taken on a werewolf or two, but he decided to be as honest as she was being instead.

"It's me you should have resented, not her," he murmured uncomfortably. His words marked the first time either of them had ever really spoken about his relationship with Lavender and he wasn't entirely sure what to say. "All she did was notice me." He realised as he said the last words that Hermione could probably say the same about Viktor. "I just…" His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out what on earth he could possibly say to excuse his behavior last year. I just liked the attention. I just wanted to make you jealous. I just really enjoyed somebody telling me how fit I was all the time. I just really enjoyed finally having a snog. They exchanged honest and embarrassed glances as Ron fought over what to say. She seemed as unsure as he was whether they wanted to continue talking about the matter or not.

"Shall we go in?" She took in a deep breath, clearly opting not to discuss it any further. Ron just nodded his head and steeled himself for what lay behind the door.

Every one of the white beds was filled and was host to everything from wizards to, Ron knew Hermione was pleased to see, house elves. A bed in one corner of the room had even been completely transformed into a mossy forest floor that looked a great deal like Classroom Eleven where Firenze had once taught. Other beds had been replaced with peculiar looking giant slings and hammocks. There were odd mechanical contraptions that propped up limbs, there was even a young wizard who was suspended in an odd purple bubble and appeared to have been immobilized. Another still was bandaged completely from head to toe with only small dark holes where the mouth, nose and eyes should be.

"Don't stare, Ron," Hermione whispered as he gaped at the bandaged patient.

"Well, how are we supposed to find anyone?" Ron whispered back with a slight edge to his voice. He had hardly realized during the Battle how many people had come to fight in that second charge that had brought his brother Charlie. This wasn't just his fellow classmates. Most of the people he saw in here were people he'd never seen before in his life. Suddenly, he felt like coming here was a huge mistake. This felt more like St. Mungo's than the familiar hospital wing they'd spent so much time in where he, Harry, and Hermione had been the only patients.

"Maybe we could ask Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione glanced across the hall to the school nurse. She was tending to a witch who had a strange yellow pus-like liquid seeping uncontrollably out from beneath her fingernails. Ron blanched and turned away quickly at the disgusting sight.

"She looks a bit busy." Seizing Hermione's hand, he began walking briskly down the line of hospital beds, desperately searching for a familiar face

There was a bald wizard with a Phoenix tattoo on his forehead moaning in his sleep and a shaggy bearded fellow who Ron could easily mistake for a distant, albeit much smaller, relative of Hagrid's. Ron wondered if they were all Order of the Phoenix members. He never thought about how large the Order actually was.

"Look, Dung is here!" He brightened suddenly at the sight of someone they knew, even if it was Mundungus Fletcher. He was fast asleep against the bed sheets, his straggly ginger hair a sharp contrast to the white linen. As Ron drew closer he saw that while Dung still had both his hands he was indeed missing all the fingers on his right one. All that remained were five short nubs that Madame Pomfrey appeared to be treating with a bright orange goopy substance. Considering the cowardly nature of his actions on the flight from Privet Drive so many months ago, Ron wondered what the circumstances of his arrival to Hogwarts had been and how he had come to be in the state he was.

"Think we should let him know we were here?" he asked hesitantly. Last time he exchanged words with Mundungus, he hadn't exactly been pleasant with him, but it still felt odd to see an Order member, especially one who had apparently been wounded in the line of duty, and not say hello.

"Oh, Dung'll be up in a bit." A shockingly cheerful voice suddenly sounded from the bed behind them. They spun around and pulled back the privacy screen to see a familiar head of dreadlocks and bright brown eyes staring back at them. "He wakes up about every hour and asks Madame Pomfrey for a smoke and a glass of London Dry!"

"Lee!" Ron cried jubilantly. Lee Jordan's arms were wrapped in plaster and sticking straight out in front of his body like a mummy, but Ron leaned down to attempt to embrace the former Gryffindor anyway. "Bit ridiculous, eh?" Lee managed a laugh at his absurd looking arms. "Madame Pomfrey says I only need to keep them like this until tonight. They're a bloody pain. I can't even itch my own nose!"

"What happened to you? I saw you and George taking down Yaxley after Kreacher got him with the knife."

"Oh, that house elf? Yeah, that was bloody brilliant. Looked like he was carving up a Christmas turkey!" Lee laughed though Hermione once again looked horrified at Ron's delight in the violent attack. "It was Goyle. Great bloke didn't even use magic. Just snapped both my arms," he grumbled nonchalantly as if he were talking about snapping a broomstick. "Probably would have offed me if he had the chance, but Dung over there stepped in."

"Dung looked out for someone other than himself?" Ron laughed incredulously.

"Sure enough!" Lee echoed Ron's surprise. They both peered curiously back around the privacy curtain at the dozing pile of rags that was Mundungus Fletcher, finding it hard to believe the thieving coward had voluntarily done something for another person. "Reckon he'll be knocking at my door asking for payment for his heroics soon enough," he added with a chuckle, but the laughter soon faded away. Ron looked awkwardly around the room, out the window to the stone bridge, back over to where Mundungus had started to snore. They all seemed to want to acknowledge the same thing, the only real thing he and Hermione had in common with Lee Jordan aside from being Gryffindors, but nobody seemed able to form the words.

"How's George?" Lee finally asked after the silence became too much. Ron's eyes turned immediately to the stone floor. He wanted to tell Lee that his brother was doing fine, but George had done little more than sip tea that morning at breakfast. Last night he'd retreated to the dormitory without so much as a word to anybody and today he had been shuffling down the corridor so slowly it looked almost as if his brothers were pushing him along. He reckoned George had probably only said about five words to anyone in the past twenty-four hours.

"He would love to see you," Hermione spoke honestly, seeming to sense Ron's hesitation to lie to Lee about his brother's state.

"How long are you lot staying at Hogwarts?" Lee asked hopefully. "Because I should be out of here tonight once these come off. I heard Rosmerta's opening up the Three Broomsticks tonight to everyone. Open bar! We could go and - "

"We've leaving this morning for the Burrow," Ron interrupted, his displeasure at delivering the news evident. The same unspoken words seemed to fill the space between them again, the words that explained why they were leaving so soon that Ron couldn't speak.

"The funeral is this weekend," Hermione spoke calmly for him again. Hearing the word 'funeral' from Hermione's lips set his teeth on edge. He glanced over at her with wide eyes, horrified that she'd been so blunt , but Lee's voice silenced anything he had been about to say to Hermione.

"You know I'll be there."

"All right then," Ron pedaled backwards suddenly, uncomfortable at where the conversation was going. It was like being with his family when all they could talk about was funeral arrangements. He couldn't stand it. "We need to get moving."

"It's good to see you well, Lee," Hermione smiled, stumbling backwards after Ron who now had a viselike grip on her hand.

"So the two of you, huh?" Lee questioned suddenly and nodded toward their joined hands in question with a wide grin. Ron saw Hermione look down to their hands then the same as he did. Neither one of them answered Lee, but she looked like she was trying hard not to suppress a smile. Lee cackled with laughter, but Ron just rolled his eyes. He expected Lee wouldn't be the last person to make such a comment to them, but he was surprised at how funny it felt to hear someone refer to them as 'you two', like a pair. Like a couple. That's what they were now he supposed. They held hands and kipped. He poured her pumpkin juice and held hands with her under the table. They even planned holidays together on the other side of the world. They did everything but snog.

Aside from Harry's reference to it yesterday morning up in Gryffindor tower, they still hadn't talked about or even referred to their unexpected kiss in the Room of Requirement. Yet every time he looked at Hermione it was all he could think about. He wondered if she noticed the conspicuous absence of kissing as much as he did. She certainly seemed to have been thinking about it down in the Great Hall when he'd referenced Harry and Ginny. He desperately wanted to kiss her again, but he just couldn't make himself duplicate the way his mouth had come alive against hers. The closest he had come had been last night on the steps, but his mother had interrupted them. He looked down the row of beds, feeling guilty that he was thinking about something as silly as kissing Hermione in a place like this.

He caught sight of another familiar face on the far side of the room, which quickly pulled his thoughts back to the wounded. Parvati Patil was leaning over a patient, who was covered almost completely from head to toe in course green bandages. His stomach, and with it all thoughts of Hermione's mouth, dropped with the realisation that the person wrapped up like a mummy he had been gaping at earlier was Lavender Brown.

He mumbled to Hermione and nodded in Parvati's direction. He heard Hermione's breath catch in her throat as she pieced together the pieces just like he had. The sight of a heavily bandaged Lavender was hardly what either expected to see. The Browns had said she was doing well last night. Ron had thought that meant she would be like Lee, bandaged and in bed, but still herself. They walked across the room and hesitantly approached the edge of the cot.

"Hi, Parvati," Ron greeted awkwardly.

"Hello," Parvati greeted quietly, her eyes all too obviously taking notice of his and Hermione's close proximity and joined hands just like Lee's had.

"How is she?" Hermione whispered.

"She's alive," Parvati spoke in normal tones, indicating that Lavender was asleep and they didn't need to whisper. She stared long and hard at the pair and gave them a grateful smile. "Thanks to you two."

"No," Hermione dismissed quickly with a humble shake of the head. "No, we just - "

"Madame Pomfrey said if she'd been left there any longer…" Ron couldn't help but detect a bit of guilt in Parvati's voice.

"She's all right. That's all that matters," Hermione interrupted, clearly not eager to hear what her outlook would have been if she and Ron hadn't called anyone over.

"It's really great of you both to come by," Parvati smiled. "Seamus came down for a spell before he left yesterday, but it's mostly just been her parents and me." She hesitated a moment and then looked back up at them hopefully. "I'm staying with her in case she wakes up again. She's been in and out all morning. Her parents are at breakfast, see."

"Yeah, we saw them last night up in Gryffindor tower," Ron finally spoke.

"They've hardly left her side but to get her things and then this morning to go eat breakfast. I haven't eaten breakfast yet myself," Parvati informed. "Were you two planning on - "

"We'll stay," Ron offered suddenly before Parvati could even ask them the question. Hermione turned to him, looking thoroughly surprised and the slightest bit uncomfortable at the sudden offer of staying by Lavender's bedside. "We'll stay if you want to go eat something."

"That would be – oh, Ron, Hermione – that would be wonderful. I just, you know I don't want her to be all alone if she wakes up- "

"We'll stay," he repeated.

"If she does wake up and she's thirsty, she takes that potion there through a straw," Parvati motioned to the bedside, sounding so grateful for the brief respite. "And Madame Pomfrey should be by soon to check on her and change the dressings." She looked to the two then and appeared very much as if she was about to say something about their coupling like Lee had, but she didn't. She simply thanked them again and disappeared toward the door.

Ron looked over to Hermione, who still appeared quite surprised and uncomfortable by his offer. Ron couldn't explain himself. He felt guilty somehow. He felt like staying by her bed was the least they could do. Her face was bandaged so thoroughly that had Parvati not been seated beside her he knew they would have walked right by without recognising her. Her eyes, nose and mouth were the only things not covered in bandages. Her hair was even contained in the bandages and he couldn't help but wonder if the flesh had been torn from her scalp as he had heard Greyback enjoyed doing so much. He shuddered and his hand tightened around Hermione at the memory of how close she had come to being his victim. She could just as easily have been the one wrapped in bandages.

"Think we should write her a note so she knows we stopped by?" Ron questioned awkwardly. The Browns had brought most of Lavender's belongings down and there was a stack of papers, flowers, and ribbons by the bedside. Hermione carefully rummaged through the pile in search of something to write with.

She grabbed a fancy self-inking quill from the pile and a piece of pale pink parchment. Ron wasn't sure what they'd even begin to write on a note. Dear Lavender, Sorry you got your face ripped off. We just stopped by to say hello.

"Dear Lavender," Hermione started writing in her graceful looping handwriting. Ron knew Lavender would immediately recognize it. He wondered what she'd think when she saw the note signed from the both of them. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel any worse. "We just wanted to say…"

"Do you think we should say we?" he asked uncomfortably. "It's just - what you said at the door about last year – you remember how put out she was when she thought that we – well -"

"That was a long time ago." Hermione offered, of all things, a tiny smile to Ron. "A lot happens in a year." She reminded him as she rolled the quill back and forth between her fingers thoughtfully.

"I just don't want to…kick her when she's down, you know?"

"I think she's probably over you, Ron." There was a distinct teasing tone to Hermione's voice. Ron was comforted by the fact that they could tease and joke about his relationship with Lavender considering last year it had almost ruined their friendship.

"It was really brave of her to fight." He looked over to Lavender's bandaged body sadly.

"Well, then how about we say 'you are a true Gryffindor'?" Hermione began scribbling the words onto the pink parchment.

"Yeah. That's good. Say your decision to stay and fight was very brave."

"Incredibly brave," Hermione modified, "and very selfless. We are so glad that you are still with us and hope you will be well soon," she continued, putting particular emphasis on the subject of the sentence. Ron couldn't deny that he liked when she referred to them as a "we". Hermione sounded like she enjoyed saying it as well.

"We hoped to tell you in person, but…you were still sleeping."

"We wish you a speedy recovery and trust you will be on your feet again soon."

"How do we sign it?" Ron screwed his face up. "Your friends?"

"Cordially yours?"

"Best wishes?"

"Salutations?" They fired potential closings back and forth, not even realizing that Lavender's eyes had fluttered open suddenly.

"Ron?" Her voice was a faint whisper. Ron and Hermione didn't even hear it at first. "Ron? Hermione?" she asked again. "Is that you?" Hearing her voice come out of the bandaged body on the bed felt very odd. Her blue eyes were the only distinguishing feature and even they were hard to make out from the shadow the bandages cast on her face.

"You're awake." He sounded much too surprised and not as pleased as he knew he should.

"What are you doing here?" Lavender's voice sounded weakly.

"We uh – we wanted – we thought we'd come see you." Ron stammered, clapping his hand on top of Hermione's possessively. Lavender's eyes took in the sight of the two of them. After a slight pause, her lips curled in a pitiful attempt at a smile.

"So you are together." She didn't sound angry or sad; of all things she looked quite amused at the sight of the two of them there holding hands by her bedside.

"We saw your parents last night in Gryffindor Tower." Ron immediately attempted to carry the conversation in another direction. "They told us you were well." Lavender ignored his comment.

"None of us could quite figure out if you were when you showed up last night." Her scratchy voice sounded and it seemed to disappear completely at the last syllable. Ron wondered if her vocal chords had somehow been mangled when she'd been attacked. He didn't even bother correcting that it had now actually been two nights ago that they had arrived at Hogwarts. He figured she'd probably been asleep most of the past two days, which really did feel like one big long day anyway. "It seemed like you were, but we couldn't tell. Seamus thought so though," she continued. Ron tightened his sweaty hand around Hermione's, unsure how to reply to the comment. "Thanks for coming." She finally left the topic of their coupling.

"Dumbledore's Army," Ron sputtered out the first thing that came to his mind. Lavender looked at him curiously, confused by the random utterance and even Hermione looked bewildered. "Really came through in the end, didn't it?"

"We tried," Lavender creaked. Her usually high and airy voice sounded dry and raspy. "It was hard this year without you three."

"We couldn't have done any more than you lot did." Ron shrugged and turned to Hermione for confirmation. She just nodded her head vigorously. Ron tried to ignore the fact that she hadn't said a word since Lavender had awakened. "Resisting the Carrows, staying here, hiding out and never giving up. You were brilliant. All of you." The words flowed a bit more easily now. Ron suddenly wished he could address all of Gryffindor house and say the same thing, to thank them for the dedication and loyalty they had shown. Without them he doubted any of them would be standing there.

"It's because we knew you three were out there fighting." Again, Lavender's voice seemed to taper off and die at the last few syllables. They sounded almost painful and Ron saw Hermione wince upon hearing the strangled words. Hesitantly, she reached for the potion Parvati had referenced and held it before her in offering. Lavender's eyes held Hermione's for a moment. They were the only part on her that held any expression. She hesitated only a moment, blinked twice, and then sucked down the bubbly liquid.

"Thank you." Her voice sounded much clearer now.

"You're welcome," Hermione replied quietly and even offered a smile. Ron sensed a moment of understanding passing between them. The tiny action seemed to wash away the history – both real and imagined - between the two girls. He felt oddly out of place, like he was up in the girls dormitory and they might start gossiping about him at any moment.

"Parvati said I was barking, you know," Lavender wheezed suddenly and it almost sounded like she was trying to laugh. "Going after him last year." She motioned to Ron. "She reckoned he really fancied you, but I couldn't see it. Not after so many years of you two just being friends and rowing like you always did. I suppose you just see what you want to see, right?"

"Let's not - " Ron stammered. He could think of about a million things he'd rather do than rehash his actions with either girl, but Lavender continued. She seemed to want to talk about the events of the past few years. It was almost as if talking about all their silly school time drama could wash away the fact that she was lying in a hospital bed bandaged nearly from head to toe after a brutal mauling.

"That's why you came back from the Yule Ball in tears, isn't it?" Ron was somewhat relieved to see Hermione looked as uncomfortable as he did at the memories being dredged up. "I couldn't figure out why you'd be crying when you went with Viktor Krum. It's because he didn't ask you, isn't it?" Lavender asked the question, even though it seemed as if she already knew the answer. When Hermione didn't answer, she just looked to Ron then and laughed. "You really are an idiot."

There was no malice in her voice, but Ron frowned at the comment. Then the last thing Ron expected to happen occurred.

Hermione began laughing too.

It started off as a slight chuckle, but soon she was laughing outright. It was the first time Ron had heard her truly laugh in days. Deep belly laughs sounded from both girls as Ron looked on uncomfortably, not sure whether they were laughing at him directly or just the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

"Who honestly would have thought - back in first year - that of all the boys - in Gryffindor Tower - it would be Ron Weasley that ended up being the heartbreaker?" Lavender's words came out in halting jerky breaths as she and Hermione guffawed with laughter at each phrase.

Ron squirmed in the chair uncomfortably at her words however. He knew Hermione had been upset with him last year, but had he really broken her heart? The thought made his stomach churn. She'd been angry with him, of course. She'd been so angry she hadn't even wished him a "Happy Christmas", but he never thought getting on with Lavender had actually broken her heart. Hearing the words somehow made him feel like a thousand tiny knives were stabbing into his heart.

"Seamus told me something yesterday about the battle." Lavender cleared her throat suddenly, her demeanor changing and seeming a bit more solemn now. "He told me he heard from Michael Corner that you were the one that saved me." Her eyes locked on Hermione, who looked suddenly embarrassed at the reference to her actions in the battle.

"I was just throwing curses at any Death Eater that moved, I – I don't know who I got. I don't know that I-"

"Thank you."

"Ron killed him," Hermione blurted out suddenly. Ron's eyes flashed over to Hermione, annoyed that she'd revealed the secret that so far only she knew. He hadn't even told Harry yet.

"You killed the werewolf?" Lavender creaked after a long pause. The news that her attacker was no longer living appeared to cause the air to leave her lungs quite suddenly. She stared at Ron with wide eyes before sucking a shaky steadying breath in through her mouth.

"Uh, yeah, he's dead," Ron mumbled. He scratched his head uncomfortably, suddenly ashamed hearing somebody else speak the words that he'd killed somebody. "I didn't really mean to. It just sort of happened." The lie felt strange coming from his lips. When he flattened Greyback's skull, he hadn't known that the werewolf had attacked Lavender, but he had every intention of killing him. He'd told Hermione that last night.

Lavender remained silent. Ron thought he heard a sniffle and he looked to Hermione uncomfortably, unsure whether they should comfort her or not. She seemed to require a moment to collect herself. They sat side by side on the chair, their palms growing sweatier against each other each second Lavender remained silent.

"I'm sorry about your brother." Lavender finally spoke words that made Ron's whole body stiffen.

The brief acknowledgment was enough to remind him of McGonagall's words that morning about an extra carriage being added to the Hogwarts Express to transport the bodies. Here among the wounded he could almost pretend Fred was just badly maimed or unconscious, that he'd be back in the Burrow in a few days, or they could visit him at St. Mungo's like they'd visited dad back fifth year. But his brother was a body, a statistic the Daily Prophet would churn out when they discussed the losses in the great Battle of Hogwarts. He'd be a part of the index in the next edition of Hogwarts: A History, just another casualty in yet another wizarding war.

Hermione changed the conversation quickly, likely feeling Ron's hand tighten around hers in discomfort. She left yesterday's battle and the events of the past behind. They shared innocent recollections from younger years and laughed over more lighthearted days - escapades in the Gryffindor common room before they were even teenagers, Herbology lessons gone awry, and the misery that was double Potions their fifth year.

Ron was grateful when her parents finally arrived, but he felt guilty at the wave of relief that washed over him. He could escape. He could leave this hospital room and all its miserable maimed occupants behind. Lavender would remain, bandaged up in those awful green bandages for who knows how long. She wasn't like Lee Jordan, who would be back on his feet, waving his arms in no time. A werewolf's wounds were tough to heal. He knew that much from his brother, Bill. She would probably be scarred and disfigured for life.

He wondered, as he and Hermione glanced back to Lavender with a wave, if it was the last time he would ever see her. His brothers ran into classmates all the time in London, but Lavender lived all the way up in Leeds. He doubted their paths would cross often. He felt an odd twinge of sadness at the thought. Though his romantic feelings for her had been minimal at best even when they had been together, the string of childhood memories they had just exchanged showed just what a part of his life she, and all the other Gryffindors, had been for the past seven years. He felt odd looking at her and knowing he'd probably never see her again. Once they left Hogwarts Castle that would be the end of it. His childhood and all the carefree memories it had held would truly be over.

He doubted Hermione felt it as she made her way through the corridors to the courtyard a final time. He knew she intended to return for her final year to take her N.E.W.T.S. She'd mentioned her plans to finish her studies more than once in the past year. She wasn't saying goodbye to the castle the way he was. Ron's steps were slow and methodical as they clambered down the final staircase hand-in-hand.

He stopped and stared at the large cavernous entrance hall, remembering the first time he and Harry had stumbled through the doors together as wide eyed eleven year olds. If someone had told him first year that this is where his life would have led him – that he'd be walking out the door hand-in-hand with Hermione Granger after a year on the run battling Voldemort - he'd have shipped them off with a first class ticket to the closed ward at Saint Mungo's.

"What's the matter?" Hermione detected his reluctance as he stood before the double Oak front doors.

"Nothing," Ron glanced around the hall that, while still in shambles, was decidedly neater than it had been previously. Even in its state of disrepair, it looked as magnificent as it had when he was eleven. "Just saying goodbye."


	8. Chapter 8

He was inside a box now. Ron didn't bother asking where the plain pine box had come from or who had fashioned it into a type of litter with two long poles emerging from the front and back. Charlie and Bill both volunteered to bear him to Hogsmeade Station. Both brothers gripped the poles firmly in their hands, Bill in the front and Charlie in the back. Their wands were nowhere in sight and it reminded Ron very much of the way Harry had said goodbye to Dobby last month. He wondered if perhaps Harry's actions to bury the elf without magic had inspired Bill or if it had been Charlie's idea. Whatever the reason, the effort of the Weasley boys to carry their brother and not use magic seemed to influence many others whose deceased loved ones would also be traveling on the Hogwarts Express.

Ron saw many wands tremble as shaky attempts to move similar pine boxes with a simple levitation charm failed. A simple swish and flick was all it would take, but very few made it into the air. Instead the battered, bruised, and emotionally drained survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts hoisted up similar litters and coffins and made the long walk around the lake to Hogsmeade Station.

The procession was slow moving and looked the way Ron imagined a Muggle battlefield might after a hard-fought campaign. There were frequent breaks as the stretcher-bearers often had to pause and rest their weary muscles. Percy took over for Bill halfway through and Harry even stopped to take over for Charlie, who was struggling considerably though he knew it was not from the physical effort as Charlie was quite strong. Ron knew he should step in and take a turn as well, but he couldn't make himself go near the box. He wondered if inside of it Fred was still wrapped in the same white sheet from yesterday morning. Oddly enough, Ron found he couldn't even recall what Fred had actually been wearing. All he could think of now was the sheet. So he stayed far away from the box and shuffled along hand in hand with Hermione, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other.

The path to the station, much like the castle, was strewn with wreckage. Trees had been uprooted, boulders littered the path and there was even a discarded Quidditch hoop blocking the path at one point. This must have been where the Death Eaters had entered. The random nonsensical wreckage reminded Ron very much of the work of Bellatrix Lestrange. She destroyed things without a purpose, hurt them simply because she could. He couldn't help but glance to Hermione and the bright pink scar on her neck then. He remembered the cuts that he'd seen only briefly as he'd set her down on the bed at Shell Cottage and Fleur had begun tending to her. They'd covered her arms and stomach and looked very much like Bellatrix had made a sport out of making her bleed. Ron squeezed her hand then and looked to Hermione, his eyes resting on the pink scar at her neck. She'd been unconscious when she'd gotten it, her weight supported by the knife, and Ron wondered if she knew Bellatrix had come so close to cutting her throat. He shuddered at the memory and she squeezed his hand back, unaware that he was thinking about her ordeal now and not the pine box.

When they reached the great winged boars that marked the entrance onto Hogwarts grounds, Ron was snapped back to the present. He was hardly surprised to see that only one remained. Still he couldn't help but wonder where the other one had gone as they walked to the tiny Hogsmeade platform.

Hagrid was standing at the Station, waiting for them much like he always was to wish them a good summer holiday. It was the first they'd seen of him since the chaos of the battle and he looked like he had attempted to treat himself rather than pay a visit to Madame Pomfrey. His face was still rather bruised and battered and two of his fingers were taped together in an awkward looking splint that looked more like a plank. His splinted hand did not stop him from lifting all three off the ground in a tight hug as soon as they reached him however.

"Oi! Hagrid!" Ron grimaced against him. He could practically feel his ribs cracking with the force of Hagrid's embrace.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly and released them from his grasp.

"Where were you last night?" Harry inquired. Hagrid's absence last night from the Great Hall had been noticeable and had thoroughly surprised the three of them. They had wanted to go pay him a visit, but his mother had hurried them all back up to Gryffindor tower without protest.

"Tendin' to Beaky and the thestrals," he explained. His voice was a bit shaky and Ron noticed it looked very much like he had been crying. "Took on a Gurg, they did, the lot of them." The pride in his voice was mixed with an obvious grief. The night was still a blur to Ron, but he did remember the creatures' staunch defenses of the castle. They'd taken on giants and Death Eaters alike. Ron wondered how many of Hagrid's prized herd were even left.

"They were amazing," Hermione remarked admirably..

"They were, weren't they?" Hagrid beamed and then took out a tablecloth sized handkerchief and blew his nose. "Not all of 'em made it, I'm afraid." He sniffled and then let out a loud howl. "Tenebrus died last night."

"Tenebrus?"

"He's the thestral you met fifth year in my class. Sharp as a tack, he was, bit o' a troublemaker, mind you, but a sweet colt." At Hagrid's remark, Ron remembered that when he 'met' Tenebrus last, he had been staring out into nothing and had actually envied what Harry had seen. Last night he'd been able to see their dark lustrous skin, leathery wings, and dragon-like faces.

He saw Hagrid's eyes focus behind him then where he knew the deceased were being loaded onto the train. "I'm real sorry 'bout yer brother, Ron," he said suddenly. "Reckon that's not the right thing to say, but I am."

Ron wondered just how many times he would have to hear that phrase over the next few days. He couldn't even make himself say thank you. He wasn't even sure 'thank you' was the right thing to say.

"How's Grawp?" he changed the conversation suddenly, recalling the sight of the undersized giant bravely taking on his much larger counterparts.

"He's a bit confused," Hagrid sighed.

"He was really brave," Hermione piped in.

"It's you was the brave one," Hagrid clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I can' hardly believe yeh did it, Harry, beat You-Know-Who."

"It wasn't just me," Harry reminded Hagrid.

"Well, of course! All of yeh!" Hagrid reached to grab hold of Ron and Hermione as well. "I've known you lot since you were a couple o' firs' year misfits sneakin' down to me hut, pokin' 'round about the Philosopher's Stone. I jes' can' believe yeh did it!"

Ron, Harry, and Hermione all looked to each other, as if recalling just how odd a trio they had been back in first year. Smiles crossed each of their faces as Hagrid continued to wax poetically about their triumph and how far they'd come. "Mark my words, there ain' likely to be a wizard in England who won' know yer names by the end o' the week." Great big tears threatened in his beetle black eyes. "I'm so proud to know yeh. No braver wizards I ever knew than yeh three!" He blew his nose in his giant handkerchief again.

"We're proud to know you too, Hagrid," Harry replied and it was their turn then to envelope him in a great hug then. Their arms stretched much further around him than they had back when they'd been eleven. Ron himself came up to Hagrid's broad chest now, almost a whole head higher than Harry. Hagrid let out another great blubbering sob as they squeezed him tightly. Alongside them the train groaned to life.

"Well now, don' want yeh ter miss yer train. Better be goin'." Though the words sounded from his lips, Hagrid seemed reluctant to let them go and allow them to climb aboard the Hogwarts Express. Ron wondered if Hagrid had the same realisation he had upon departing from the Great Hall.

They were leaving.

Sure, he'd see Hagrid again. He knew he would be at the Burrow this weekend and Ron would probably come back to Hogsmeade and visit and see him again. But there was a finality to their departure from the station that caused a large lump in his throat.

He tried to push the thought from his mind as he climbed aboard and gave Hagrid one final wave. He tried to ignore how odd it felt to climb aboard and not be burdened with trunks and cages. There was almost no resemblance to the comfy compartments he used to look forward to riding in so much. Most were now filled with adults, which was as odd a sight as seeing adults in the common room last night had been. The only adult they were used to seeing in fact, the squat and slightly hunchbacked witch who pushed the trolley, was nowhere to be seen. Ron wondered with a shudder if she had managed to survive the last year.

It wasn't merely the presence of adults that felt so weird though. It was the fact that they left a castle in ruin and returned home, not for summer holiday, but for funerals. Most people on the train, himself included, would likely be attending at least one. Yet there still seemed to be a jubilant air among many of the passengers. There was cause for celebration, he reminded himself. They'd defeated the Dark Lord. Voldemort was gone. He was no more than a scary story to scare children on Halloween, another chapter in a History of Magic.

"Come sit with us," Hermione called to George from the open compartment she and Ginny had claimed. Ron thought it was an odd request and he frowned at the words. George never sat with them. Asking him to join now just seemed like pointing out the obvious, that the person he usually sat with on train rides was loaded in the back like a piece of furniture. George seemed to share the same sentiments. Acknowledging Hermione with the faintest of head nods, he dragged his feet down the center aisle to slump against the window of another compartment where Percy, Charlie and Bill soon joined him.

Ron couldn't say that he blamed George for opting out. With Ginny and Harry sitting there with joined hands and Hermione resting against his shoulder, the compartment looked very much like Madame Puddifoot's on St. Valentine's Day. That was probably the reason his mother stuck her head in to cast a watchful eye on them all before retreating to the compartment with the rest of the family.

He hated how the comfortable closeness he and Hermione shared vanished quite quickly whenever his mum was around. Hermione was not bashful about leaning deep into his shoulder right now in front of Harry and Ginny or even holding his hand in front of Bill or Charlie, but in front of his parents her cheeks would flush quite suddenly and she would break away. This morning at breakfast she'd been having a laugh at how long his hair had gotten, playfully toying with the bits that curled at the back of his neck when his mother had sat down across from them. Hermione had ripped her hands away then, as if caught doing something horribly indecent, and returned to the piece of toast in front of her. His mum was pleasant enough, obviously having invited her back to the Burrow with them, but Ron felt very much like his mum wished she could renege on her offer. She wasn't cold like she had been to Fleur and it wasn't like fourth year when she had stupidly believed Rita Skeeter's nonsense about Hermione. She was just different. Despite how happy she'd seemed over their coupling at dinner last night, she didn't treat Hermione at all like the girl she'd known for seven years.

Fortunately, the train compartment had the same pleasantly insulating quality as the common room. Ron could feel his whole body relax as he watched the familiar scenery rush past. He couldn't help but wonder as he looked across the way to Ginny and Harry then down to Hermione resting against him, if this is how it always could have been. If their lives hadn't been so chaotic and crazy, if they hadn't always been locked in a life or death struggle, if he'd just admitted back in fourth year that maybe he should have asked her to the Yule Ball, perhaps this is how every trip on the Hogwarts Express could have been. Harry appeared to be thinking the same thing as Ron noted the peaceful and content look on his face. They didn't have books to read or sweets to eat, but it almost felt like old times.

They asked Ginny about Hogwarts this year. Not questions about the Carrows or detentions, but how much Slytherin had been leading by in the House Cup, how Quidditch had gone, who had been named Head Boy and Girl (Ron was disappointed, but not surprised to learn it had been Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson). Ginny replied in kind by asking innocent details about their year.

Hermione did most of the talking, telling Ginny about her undetectable extension charm and the beaded bag that had contained everything they needed. They told her about drinking Polyjuice Potion and all the different places they had journeyed. Ron noted that the conversation never strayed to what they had been looking for and he wondered if such avoidance was purposeful or not on Harry's part. When Ginny inquired as to whether they'd celebrated Christmas or not, Ron quickly interjected and changed the subject, embarrassed his sister might learn about his desertion. He was thankful that Hermione and Harry remained silent and allowed the conversation to stray back to what they had eaten and how often they washed their clothes. Only when Ginny inquired about what Hermione's parents thought of her grand adventure did the happy conversation come to a quick halt.

Ron glanced warily across to Ginny, trying to convey that it was a topic that was off limits for the time. Harry too looked at Ginny and shook his head.

Ron didn't want her to have to explain it all again. He remembered vividly the first night she'd arrived at the Burrow last summer. He'd been so thrilled to finally have her there after an agonizing month apart. Dinner with his family had seemed to take forever and he just wanted the chance to be alone with her. When her familiar knock finally sounded outside his bedroom door after dinner he had not been expecting to see her eyes swimming with tears. She had barely passed the threshold into his room before she came undone in his arms. He had grown used to her frequent displays of emotion over the years, but this had been a different sort of grief that caught him entirely off guard. Her speech was halted and choppy – punctuated so frequently by great body wracking sobs - that it had taken Ron several minutes to figure out what she had even done to her parents. Her heaving sobs had indicated quite clearly why she had been so quiet all through dinner that night with his family. It was because at that moment she had no longer had a family. He hadn't known quite what to say. He had only been on page 15 of "Twelve Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches" then and there was nothing so far about providing comfort in times of emotional distress. His arms had enveloped her quickly though, much like they had weeks before at Dumbledore's funeral. He hadn't tried to crack a lame joke or initiate a conversation about all the ridiculous wedding preparations. The situation was awful and there was nothing they could do to change that except be there for each other. And that's what he'd done. That's what he would always continue to do.

He felt Hermione breathe deeply into his shoulder and he looked to her, his brow wrinkled in concern. She had hardly mentioned her parents at all since that night. They had rarely come up in conversation the past year and whenever they did her voice grew shaky and her eyes filled with tears. He knew it was painful. He didn't want to make her do it again. The looks on Harry and Ron's faces were already enough to plant the worst in Ginny's mind however. The longer it took Hermione to respond the more visibly distressed she grew.

"Hermione, they're not - "

"They're all right. They're not…" Hermione's mind seemed to wander as her voice drifted away, but she collected herself. "Well, I think they're all right."

"What do you mean you think?" Ginny's eyes were ablaze with fear now. "Do you not know where they are?"

"I have a general idea."

"And where's that?"

"Australia."

The word seemed to echo around the compartment. Ron even winced as it sounded from Hermione's lips. The mere name of the far-off place seemed a stark and cruel reminder of both the lengths Hermione had to take and the physical distance she still had to travel to fetch them. The lengths they had to travel.

"Australia?"

"I did a memory charm, see? To keep them safe." Hermione licked her lips. Ron could hear a sharp intake of breath, as if simply saying the words had knocked the wind out of her. "So my mum and dad live in Australia and they don't know anything that's going on and - " she paused momentarily and took in another quick breath, "-and they don't know they have a daughter."

Ginny's reaction to the revelation was quite similar to what Ron's had been so many months ago. The astonishment on her face was evident and she couldn't seem to make any words sound from her throat.

"It's not permanent is it?" she finally creaked.

"Until I find them and can reverse it, it is." Hermione stared out the window at the passing hills, her thoughts seeming to disappear over the horizon. Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a supportive one armed hug. The action seemed to bring her back and she leaned back against him and tried her best to give him an appreciative smile.

"We'll find them," he spoke softly, giving her a gentle squeeze. She moved her arm around his waist then in a manner so familiar Ginny couldn't help but grin and quickly change the subject.

"So, come on and tell me when this happened." She grinned as she looked to the cozy pair now thoroughly wrapped around each other. Ron would have appreciated Ginny's attempt to steer the conversation away from Hermione's brainwashed parents if he hadn't noted the mischievous glint in her eye as she asked the question. He knew perfectly well she just wanted to see him squirm. "I hope for your sake they haven't been like this all year, Harry," she laughed, "holding hands and hanging off each other every chance they get. You two are worst than a couple of third years!"

"Oh, come off it!" Ron snorted. "As if you two weren't just as bad at the end of last year! Don't think just because I didn't say anything I didn't see you." His comment, while true, still didn't exactly dispel the fact that he knew he and Hermione had been nearly inseparable the past twenty-four hours.

"Was it right after the wedding?" Ginny wagered a guess, eyeing the two carefully. "I bet it was. You did spend about an hour brushing your teeth before the ceremony and- "

"Would you shut it!"

"-and you were awfully nervous asking mum about how many dances there would be - "

"I mean it, Ginny!" he warned, but his sister just giggled.

"You know, there was actually a bet going. Fred and George started it…" Ginny's laughter died in her throat as she realized she'd said the name too late. The smile on everyone's face quickly disappeared and they all grew pale and seemed to forget what Ginny had even been talking about. Everyone except Ron.

He was eager to hear what kind of bet his brothers had engineered and annoyed how it seemed Fred's name or anything having to do was off-limits in conversation.

"What was this bet?" He snapped the compartment out of their momentary depression.

"It was nothing," Ginny dismissed meekly. "Just about when you two would snog and get it over with," she admitted meekly as silence soon filled the compartment again. The mention of snogging hadn't even seemed to make Hermione uncomfortable like it had earlier in the Great Hall. She seemed to be afflicted with the same disorder Harry and Ginny had.

"Did you know about this bet?" Ron broke the silence again by turning to his best friend. Harry went from silently staring out the window at the mention of Fred, to being suddenly interested in a loose thread on his shirt sleeve, which he pulled at with his thumb and forefinger. His guilt was all too obvious. "You treacherous git!" Ron glared at Harry, but had difficulty suppressing a grin. "Did you put money in it?" Ron pressed. Harry again seemed particularly interested in his frayed shirt sleeve.

"The pot got quite big," Ginny informed. "It's been going on since your broke up with Lavender."

"I expect you'll tell me the whole school was in on it?"

"No, just the Gryffindors."

"Just the Gryffindors?" Ron gaped. Hermione looked mortified. "Did you all really have nothing better to do this year than wager on my love life? With all that was going on?"

"Oh please, we all deserve a medal for putting up with you two for the past six years!" Ginny snapped back, but the teasing tone was all too evident in her voice.

Had the whole school really known they fancied each other that long or was his sister just trying to take the piss? He had never voiced his feelings for Hermione to a single soul, not even to Harry. Ginny's words made him wonder if perhaps Hermione had. Could she possibly have fancied him as long as he had her? She never told him how fit he was or clever or funny. She had certainly never taken notice of the thousands of compliments he'd heaped upon her until this past year. He recalled Harry's words up in Gryffindor tower suddenly about how many years Hermione had carried a torch for him. Had everyone really known but him? Was it possible he'd really been that oblivious?

"What was the pot up to?" Hermione finally spoke. Her inquiry was muffled into Ron's shoulder as she continued to lean against him. Ron looked to her with his mouth agape, aghast that of all the questions she would ask right now what concerned her was how much money people had gambled on the two of them. They had just learned that all of Gryffindor tower had wagered sickles and knuts on the day he'd been fantasizing about for years. They'd probably had a right good laugh at him for taking as long as he had.

"It was up to almost fifteen or twenty galleons," Ginny replied. Ron's mouth dropped open and even Harry's eyes widened at the revelation.

"Bloody hell! Were we that popular?" Ron looked to Hermione and couldn't help but give her a thoroughly embarrassed smile. Ten galleons was enough to make him wonder whether the entire school sat around speculating on their coupling.

"There wasn't much to get us through this year," Ginny admitted suddenly. "We talked about you three all the time." Ron was suddenly reminded of Lavender's words. He wondered if she'd contributed a few sickles to the pot. "Knowing you were all out there fighting is what got us through," she confessed. Ron couldn't help but wonder if it was more of a personal confession as his sister's eyes rested on Harry.

"Well, someone's buying us lunch at Diagon Alley," Ron announced, "I mean with that ten galleons."

"You could buy about ten lunches with ten galleons!" Hermione laughed and Ron could see she looked quite pleased at his mention of them as an 'us'.

"Or just one really big one," he grinned. His thoughts drifted to a five course meal at Chez Sorcier with Hermione complete with a goblet of elf-made wine.

"You are ridiculous." Hermione shook her head, but could not hide the affectionate look in her eyes.

"I'm hungry," he corrected.

"You just ate!"

"You should know I'm always hungry." The comment sounded more suggestive than he intended it to and he quickly changed the subject. "So who did win then?"

"You tell me," Ginny settled back into her seat with a devious smirk on her face. Her eyes fixed on Hermione as she spoke the words.

"I told you already that was the first time." Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear uncomfortably after a long pause, clearly referencing an earlier conversation the two girls had had. So she had told her about their frenzied mid-battle embrace. Ron wondered if she'd also mentioned the fact that he hadn't so much as kissed her on the cheek since.

"I refuse to believe you two spent an entire year living together –"

"Well, believe it -"

" - running for your lives no less – fighting Death Eaters and not once did you - "

"Right, Ginny, why don't you stop talking now?" Ron cut his sister off, hardly believing of all the things they could currently discuss that a snog between him and Hermione seemed to be the number one priority. Granted, he didn't want to talk about most of the events of the past few days, but surely there was something else they could discuss. What had they all talked about before all this had happened?

"But who really won?" Harry interjected curiously and looked to Ginny. "I mean, I can vouch for them. Unless, they were carrying on behind my back all year, that really was the first time they kissed."

"Well…" Ginny scrunched up her face and pressed her finger to her temple. She appeared very much like Hermione did when she was trying to recall the specific ingredients of a potion, like there was a master list floating around in the back of her head with a list of dates and situations people had proposed about when they would snog. "I suppose - " Ginny hesitated slightly and the smile dropped quickly from her face. "Well, I suppose Fred won then."

"What did he say?" Ron had a morbid curiosity to know what his brother thought about him and Hermione.

"He said you'd wait until the last possible minute. Something like you wouldn't pluck up the courage to kiss her unless your lives hung in the balance."

Ron laughed softly to himself at the revelation, both because it sounded exactly like his brother and it had certainly fit the bill that night. He didn't bother correcting Ginny that it had in fact been Hermione who had plucked up the courage and kissed him first, not him. Granted, he had certainly met her lips and responded with enthusiasm, but Hermione, he would never forget, was the one who had taken the plunge first. This next kiss would be the one that would require courage, the one he couldn't seem to initiate.

"Well, I reckon we should give the gold to George then," Ron offered, even though prior to Ginny's admission he had been about to suggest that he and Hermione pocket the money made off them.

"George was way off! He said he reckoned you two had already snogged by the end of last year and the real reason you were leaving Hogwarts for the year was so you could – how did he say it – focus solely on extracurriculars?"

"That prat." Ron managed to laugh. "Still, I reckon he should get it."

"They did put in most of the ten galleons," Ginny admitted with a laugh. She stretched her arms out over her head then and promptly got to her feet. "I've got to use the loo."

"Good for you then," Ron scoffed, unsure why she'd felt the need to announce it like she had.

"Want to come, Hermione?" She raised her eyebrows and turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Must you still travel in packs to use the toilet?" Ron groaned.

"I expect they're not going to use the toilet at all," Harry laughed. A thoroughly embarrassed Hermione got to her feet and shuffled toward the door then. Ginny just glared at the both of them as she slid open the door and exited the compartment. Ron knew from dating Lavender what trips to the loo meant. He knew, in this case, it could only mean discussions about him and Harry. Ginny was probably going to press her about the unexpected kiss Harry had vouched for and whether or not it had been duplicated.

"I don't like that at all!" Ron announced and the two boys exploded into laughter.

The light-hearted mood lasted all the way to London. Ron wished it would stay forever. Things felt relaxed and natural, like the four of them had been coupled up like this their entire life. Hermione and Ginny wouldn't let on why they had been gone so long except to say they had run into Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones. Ron had difficulty imagining Hermione gossiping about boys to anyone, nonetheless sensible girls like Hannah and Susan, but he sensed that's exactly what they had been doing. He wondered what details Ginny had tried to press out of her. He wondered whether Hermione had told her about how he'd brought her up to the dormitory and she had curled up next to him on the bed.

He felt a funny sort of confidence the entire train ride to London. He liked how people took note of their compartment as they walked by. He liked that they looked in to gaze at the famous Harry Potter and they saw the brilliant Hermione Granger attached to him when they did. A strange feeling of pride welled up inside him like he'd never known before.

He thought about what he'd suggested last night outside the Great Hall about accompanying her to Australia. They hadn't brought it up since that brief conversation, but every time he let his thoughts wander he could think of little else. He was aware that fetching her parents didn't promise to be a fun task. The details of how they would travel were unclear as were the specifics of locating her parents and reversing the memory charm. There was much about the trip that was up in the air, but he knew enough. It would be him and Hermione together. Every time he thought about it he felt his whole body tingle in anticipation. He wondered if she had thought about it any since last night. Had she told Ginny? Perhaps that's what they had discussed when she had left the compartment earlier. Maybe she had told Hannah and Susan that she'd be going on a trip around the world with him. The thought made him feel strangely confident and unbelievably nervous all at the same time.

He still kept reliving their kiss in the Room of Requirement. He couldn't wrap his brain around what it would be like to kiss her again now that their lives didn't hang in the balance and they had all the time in the world. He wished he'd had the nerve to kiss her at Hogwarts one last time. He felt a pang deep in his chest that he would never have a chance to kiss her in the Gryffindor common room or out on the grass in the courtyard. Whatever happened with him and Hermione would happen outside of Hogwarts, which was a thought that was as exciting as it was terrifying. Their future would play out in places he didn't even know. So much was unknown now. Not the way their class schedules each year were uncertain or the outcome of a weekend's Quidditch match, but a long term uncertainty that was unnerving.

For seven years he knew his future lay at Hogwarts. Even the past year he had known his future would either have two outcomes. He would either help Harry beat Voldemort or he would die trying. He'd actually accepted and come to terms with the likelihood of his own death over the course of the last year. He'd been almost certain of it on more than one occasion. Yesterday morning he had even charged toward it confidently. Barely twenty-four hours had passed and that confidence had seemed to vanish though.

He knew it was silly. Hermione was curled up beside him tighter than Devil's Snare. She'd hardly left his side since their last embrace. If she didn't want to be with him, she could make that clear. The fear of screwing up a second kiss with her still gripped him though for reasons he couldn't even explain.

As the train pulled into King's Cross Station, he wondered when they would ever have a chance to escape from his family so he could even attempt to kiss her again. It was nearly impossible to be alone at the Burrow, especially if his mother maintained the same watchful eye she had the past day. For as pleased as she had initially seemed with their coupling, she didn't seem to want them to ever be alone together.

He felt shameful that they weren't even home yet and all he could think about was getting away, but he didn't want to stay with his family and think about Fred and he knew that's what they would do. Right now, thoughts about second kisses and travels to Australia were the only thing that kept him from thinking about his brother. The moment his thoughts drifted to that last carriage he felt the familiar stinging in his nose that came when tears threatened. His throat would get so tight when he thought about it that it became difficult to breathe. He almost felt ill. It almost felt like second year when he'd thrown up those slugs.

So he hugged Hermione and he let her lean into his shoulder and he tried to ignore questions in his head about how exactly they would transport Fred back to the Burrow and what would happen to his body once they arrived. He tried to focus only on Hermione and that second kiss.

The first sounds Ron heard upon arriving at the Burrow were his mother's dreadful sobs. She'd been quite composed the past thirty-six hours. He hadn't heard her cry since the night when they'd all been crying. She'd held it together surprisingly well as she stood and watched her eldest sons haul Fred off the train. She'd even managed to keep calm as she knelt down beside the pine box on the platform at 9 ¾, placed a hand on the box and along with his father Apparated to the Burrow.

But by the time Ron Apparated outside the stack of dirty cauldrons by the garage, his mother was collapsed in a heap beside the chicken coop. She was sprawled across the pine box like she had been sprawled across his body the other night. The great spasmodic sobs from that night returned and cries of "my boy!" echoed throughout the yard. His dad stood tall and firm, kneeling beside her with his hand on her shoulder. Percy, Bill, Charlie and Ginny quickly circled around their mother in a supportive ring. Even Harry came over to offer his support.

George however seemed oblivious to the gathering. He dragged his feet toward the house without so much as a sideward glance to the rest of his family. Ron's eyes rested momentarily on the mournful circle. He felt a familiar twinge that he ought to go over and be with them. It was the same feeling he'd had when he left the Great Hall yesterday morning with Hermione and again this past morning when they had journeyed to the hospital wing. He knew what Hermione had told him last night was true. His family probably needed him there, but as George trudged past him on his way to the house, Ron couldn't help but follow.

"Ron, no, we should stay." Hermione tugged back on his hand and planted her feet firmly in the earth. She looked to his family and then back to him with a pained expression. He wanted her with him more than anything, but he didn't want to argue about why she should choose him over his family. Staying with his family was the right thing to do. He knew that. So lacking both the words and the strength to reply, Ron simply released her hand from his and followed after George.

Despite the fact that he'd dreamed about returning home for months, his hardly took in the welcome sight. All he noted was that the house bore the obvious evidence of having been unoccupied the last month. The chickens, who must have been released from their pen upon his family's departure, were now roaming freely around the property with the pigs. He wondered how many had survived the month on their own. His mum took good care of the animals, especially the chickens, and he knew it probably pained her to let them go and leave them to fend for themselves. He wondered if she'd ever imagined that this was how she would return to their home.

He kept hoping he'd hear Hermione's feet pattering after him or feel her hand slip in his, but neither happened. He walked through the door to the Burrow alone. He heard his brother's bedroom door slam shut and tried not to think about how empty the room must feel to George. He imagined returning to the flat above Weasley Wizard Wheezes might be even more difficult than staying in their old childhood bedroom. How long would George stay here, he wondered? How long would he and Hermione stay here for that matter? They hadn't discussed their journey to Australia any further aside from the brief conversation about her parents this morning on the train. He wondered how and when exactly they would even broach such a topic to his parents as he climbed up the five flights of stairs to his attic bedroom.

His parents had informed him that they'd released the ghoul back to the attic when they left the Burrow, but he could still smell the remnants of it through his door. He wished he could remember the charm Hermione used to get rid of foul odors, but he couldn't recall the exact incantation. Benolfacto, he thought it was, and a quarter turn of the wrist to right, but he wasn't confident.

He pushed open the door, braving the slight ghoulish odor, and stared inside. Like the Gryffindor common room, his childhood bedroom looked much different than he remembered. The space looked small, his bed looked small, even the ceiling felt lower than he remembered. He looked around at the Chudley Cannons posters and quilt and realised he had hardly thought about the Cannons much at all over the last year. The 1997 schedule was pinned up beside the bed and it was an odd realisation to know he had no idea how the season had finished for them. He felt like a traitorous fan. He felt like he imagined Hermione must have when his mother had mentioned Crookshanks. Almost like he was dusting off an old relic from childhood and recalling how much he'd used to care for it. As if on cue, Crookshanks suddenly appeared from beneath his bed. The great ginger cat weaved between his legs, giving Ron an unusually affectionate rub.

"Did Muriel already drop you off then?" Ron looked down at the cat's great squashed face. "Bet you're glad to be away from that old bat."

"He looks well." Hermione's voice sounded from the doorway and Ron startled suddenly in surprise. "Do you think he remembers me?" Hermione reached down and hoisted the ball of orange fluff off the ground, a loud and contented purr sounding from his fat body.

"I'd take that as a yes." Ron gave a tiny smile, trying to disguise how happy he was that she'd joined him. Being back in his bedroom felt funnier than he thought it would and he was grateful she was there with him. She offered him a tiny smile in return, but then wrinkled her nose quite suddenly. "Yeah, it still smells a bit like the ghoul." He scratched his head nervously, embarrassed by his malodorous room. Hermione lowered Crookshanks to the floor and pulled out the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. She quickly removed the smell, replacing it instead with the pleasant aroma of freshly cut grass and a crisp spring breeze. "Nice." He raised his eyebrows and noted that the spell had indeed involved a quarter turn to the right.

"I hate using it." Hermione looked to the claw-like wand in her hand.

"Me too." Ron pulled out the chestnut wand of Peter Pettigrew and stared at its oddly curved design. "I miss my old wand."

He walked over to his bed, set the wand down on the small table beside and plopped onto the mattress. The bed looked so tiny he doubted his lanky frame would even fit in it now. If it was possible, he thought he'd grown another inch in his eighteenth year.

"Don't you think you should be with your family, Ron?" Hermione asked plainly almost exactly like she had earlier that morning in the Great Hall.

"In a bit," Ron murmured dismissively in an attempt to convey to Hermione that returning downstairs with his family was the last thing he wanted to do. "Come sit." He motioned to the empty mattress beside him.

She had sat on this very bed dozens of times over the last seven years, but Ron knew she was well aware of the nature of his invitation and she was slow to walk over to the bed and join him. This wasn't the Gryffindor common room or an overcrowded castle. This was his childhood bedroom. This was his childhood… sweetheart? The term sounded bizarre in Ron's head and he almost chuckled out loud. Calling Hermione his sweetheart, any kind of sweetheart, seemed about the most ridiculous thing in the world. Primarily because, aside from their enthusiastic snog two nights ago, his lips hadn't even met hers again.

Still, it was evident and had been for a while now that they were well beyond the plane of friendship. He and Hermione were something more than best friends, something words couldn't even begin to describe. They certainly weren't boyfriend and girlfriend either though. Boyfriends and girlfriends dated. He doubted he and Hermione would ever be the kind of people to go to Madame Puddifoot's and carve their names into a tree. How did people even date outside of Hogwarts, he wondered? He wouldn't wait for her outside her classes or carry her cauldron around for her or celebrate Quidditch victories. He hadn't ever contemplated what life would be like after Hogwarts, nevertheless life with Hermione. She'd become more than just a part of his life now, she was a part of him. The very real possibility of losing her, which he had felt on more than one occasion in the past year, had felt like someone wrenching his soul apart.

She looked expectantly to Ron from her seat on the bed. His family downstairs suddenly seemed a million miles away. She licked her lips and Ron couldn't ignore the hopeful look in her eye. Did she want him to call her sweetheart and ask her on a date, he wondered? She seemed suddenly much younger than her eighteen years. She didn't look like the girl who had hunted Horcruxes and faced down Death Eaters. She looked very much like a schoolgirl waiting for her first kiss.

Of course, he wasn't her first kiss. He knew that. Ruddy Viktor Krum had gotten there first and probably McLaggen too. He knew he couldn't blame her, of course. He wondered if she knew that he blamed himself and that was why his blood boiled every time he heard so much as a mention of Bulgaria. Someone else had gotten there first and had ruined everything. He felt like he had failed her. He hadn't been the first one to realise Hermione Granger was beautiful and snogging her might just very well be the best thing in the whole world.

"Are you going to kiss me again, or not?" Her voice rang out clearly and she turned to stare at him with those knowing eyes of hers that always indicated she was a step ahead of the rest of the world. Her straightforwardness, though it shouldn't have, took him by surprise and he spluttered a few incomprehensible syllables at first.

"Not with…Crookshanks here," he offered lamely and looked to the enormous cat who was now staring grouchily up at Ron with his great squashed face. Hermione responded in kind by immediately ordering Crookshanks out the door. The bandy-legged cat obeyed, but lingered at the entryway a moment. Ron could swear the cat even turned back and glared at him before leaving. Hermione pointed her wand at the open door then.

"Occludo!" The door closed quickly with a loud slam. Ron fidgeted nervously.

"I'll have to remember that one."

"Professsor Flitwick taught it to us third year," she sighed and shook her head.

"Oh."

"Honestly, did you ever pay attention in class?"

"No."

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you not want to kiss me again?" She didn't sound at all hurt by the concept and Ron was again taken aback by how forthright and honest she was. Where was this Hermione Granger fourth year? When she could have just said, 'Ron, I wish you had taken me to the ball' or sixth year for that matter when she could have just said, 'Ron, I would like to go on a date with you to Slughorn's Christmas party'. Didn't she know a bloke needed to hear straightforward things like that? That beating around the bush like she did just led to him living in his head and doing other kinds of beating alone in his room.

"Of course I do." His reply was a low, but immediate, mumble. There were no protests, arguments, or lame explanations. Where had this Ron Weasley been for that matter?

"Then what is this – about Crookshanks and yesterday outside the Great Hall - "

"I just …" His voice drifted as he looked down at the dusty floorboards that creaked as he shifted his weight back and forth uncomfortably. He really didn't know why he hadn't kissed her again. Merlin help him, he certainly wanted to. He just knew it never felt like the right time and he wasn't quite sure how to go about doing it. He didn't think about why he felt that way. Sometimes he hated how Hermione made him think about things he would never dwell on otherwise. She made him talk about them. "I guess I want it to be - I don't know - " His attention was riveted to the floor and not her as he stumbled over words. "There's just always something else happening, something else going on."

"Well, nothing is ever going to be perfect," Hermione laughed. "If the past seven years have taught you anything, they should have taught you that."

"Yeah, but…you know what I mean," he sighed and leaned back against the wall. He hoped that his incoherent mumbling would somehow convey to her that he'd thought about kissing her so many times since fourth year that he wasn't sure how exactly to go about doing it. He hoped his weary sigh would help her understand that the circumstances of the battle and the realisation that they might not live through the night had filled him with a sense of immediacy that was lacking up here in his bedroom. Now he had time to think. Now they didn't have anywhere else to be.

She raised one corner of her mouth then in a tiny smile and moved toward him. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him again and he'd be down 2-0 in the kissing count she was no doubt keeping track of as much as he was, but then she raised the walnut wand of Bellatrix Lestrange. Ron frowned until his eyes followed the wand and he saw that she was immobilizing a little black spider that was resting on the wall above his head. He leapt away from the wall and implored her to kill it as she opened the window and set it free outside.

"You should have killed it. You let him go and now he'll go tell all his spider friends to come back."

"You're being silly."

"Fred told me that's what happened when I was little. He told me they'd tell all their family to come back and get me if I didn't kill them."

"Honestly, Ron, I don't know how you could fight off a swarm of Acromantulas and still be afraid of a garden spider," she sighed. He was grateful she hadn't chosen to make a big deal about the fact that he'd mentioned Fred's name like Harry and Ginny had in the train compartment that morning. He liked that he didn't have to stop the conversation and get weird and dwell on the fact that they would always have to refer to his brother in the past tense now. "So is that why you never did anything?" she asked, quickly bringing them back to the conversation she had initiated about why he still hadn't kissed her again. "Because of everything else that was going on?"

Ron turned the question over in his head. He supposed that was a part of it. There were so many things that had kept him from acting on his feelings for Hermione over the years. If he started telling her all of them now they'd never get around to kissing. They'd be here until supper. And despite his hesitation, he really did want to get down to the kissing.

"A bit, yeah," he dismissed with a shrug. "The other night certainly wasn't how I planned it happening." The words had hardly tumbled from his lips before he immediately wished he could take them back.

"You planned it?" she asked quietly, doing very little to hide how touched she was by the confession.

"No, I don't mean I - not like – I didn't - " He stammered over syllables, but quickly gave up trying to take back his words. "I dunno, I just thought it'd be different, that's all. Not in a battle, not with Harry standing right there, not when…" Not when people were dying around us left and right. "I just thought it'd be different." The words, the meaning behind them and all that they implied, rang out in the bedroom. He was admitting feelings to her he had long kept secret. He had thought about kissing her, pictured it in his head even. Never mind that she already seemed to know all that. He was saying it out loud.

"Are you saying you wish I hadn't done it?" Hermione frowned then.

"No!" Ron was quick to respond, but he quickly stumbled over what to say next. "If something had happened and I never got to – I could never - I just – well - I wish – I mean – I wish it had been me," he blurted out at last.

"What should have been you?"

"You know."

"I think I want to hear it." She crossed her arms and he couldn't help but feel like she was toying with him. He looked down at the floorboards again and began playing with the fringes of the rug with the toe of his shoe, hardly believing she was making him do this.

"I wish I'd kissed you first," he mumbled. His voice was barely audible.

"What was that?" she teased.

"I said I wish I'd been the one who kissed you first." His voice was louder and more decisive.

"And that's important, why?" Hermione actually laughed at his remark as she leaned back on the palms of her hands, looking very pleased with herself. Now's your chance, Weasley, a voice rang in Ron's head. He raised his eyes up from the rug to look at her slightly parted lips and contented smile. How hard could it be? He'd fought off Death Eaters, ridden a dragon, and destroyed a Horcrux. Yet he couldn't lift his head and move it ten inches to the right to kiss Hermione Granger.

"I don't know, I suppose just because blokes are supposed to make the first move, that's all." He shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed. "And last time Harry was standing there and, I don't know…" Ron scratched his head, thoroughly humiliated that she was making him talk about all this.

She was still leaning back on her hands so he dropped back on his too. Their heads were even now and mere inches apart. He could do this. He had already done it, he reminded himself. She'd pounced on him and he'd responded with such force he'd hoisted her off the ground. He knew she wanted him to make the next move though. They had had more than a handful of opportunities in the past thirty-six hours to recreate that moment in the Room of Requirement, but she was patiently waiting for him. Despite all that had happened and all that he had just confessed, it seemed like she still needed the reassurance.

Somehow the vivid memory of their previous embrace didn't help Ron to summon any courage however. That had been a different Ron Weasley, the one who had defied Voldemort and killed the fiercest werewolf in the wizarding world. Not the one who wore pyjamas that were too short and slept on a Chudley Cannons pillowcase. His bedroom for some reason kept bringing him back to all his inadequacies. Everything from the creaking floorboards to the box of Chocolate Frog cards by the window reminded him of his childhood and kept him rooted to the spot.

Oddly enough, it was the memory of Greyback that caused his body to twist slightly and lean toward her. It was the events of the past year - the concern for Hermione that had so often swept through him, the genuine fear that she could be taken from him – that finally willed his lips to her.

Time seemed to slow down and it took forever for his mouth to reach hers. The kiss was chaste and sweet, much softer than the frenzied manner they had embraced the other night. They were leaning back on his bed and his body was twisted at an awkward angle so it only lasted a moment. He pulled away slowly, his lips hovering over hers as he gazed at her with a look that was equal parts wonder and adoration. Her eyes were still closed, like she was waiting for more, but the corners of her mouth were turned up ever so slightly in a perfect smile. So he took her hands in his and pulled her forward so they were both sitting upright. Then he moved in to kiss her again, this time quicker and much more easily than the last.

Her hands were still encased in his, which were growing sweatier by the minute. He knew he should be doing something with them while his mouth moved slowly over hers, but he forgot what to do. He forgot how his long nose got in the way and how teeth sometimes clanged together. He forgot how his mouth pooled with saliva because he couldn't even remember to breathe. He forgot everything save the fact that he was kissing Hermione Granger.

He opened up his eyes so he could watch her then while she kissed him back. The movement of her mouth was even slower than his, but her eyes were closed in a blissfully peaceful manner. He rarely dared to look at her this close, but he was amazed at how lovely and smooth her skin looked after all they'd been through. Sure it was marred in places with scratches, scars, and burns, but she still did not look like someone who had been on the road for months. He was so engrossed in watching the muscles in her cheek move as she worked her jaw against his that he hardly realised her eyes had fluttered open.

"Ron!" she squealed suddenly and broke apart from him. "Close your eyes!"

"Why?"

"Because it's proper!" she spluttered, running her hands through her unruly hair self-consciously.

"Oh, it's proper, is it?" he laughed.

"Yes!"

"Is that what Witch Weekly says?"

"It's just what…is. It's not proper to keep your eyes open when you kiss someone," she maintained.

"Are those the rules then?" He suddenly felt unusually self-assured in contrast to Hermione's all too flustered demeanor.

"Yes, it's not - "

"Well, you opened your eyes," he argued coolly.

"Just for a moment. Just to see - "

"Just to see this?" He leaned forward and kissed her again, unsure where this well spring of confidence suddenly came from. He kept his eyes open to see her reaction, but her eyelids immediately dropped down once his lips came into contact with hers again. It was almost like a reflex, like when healers banged your knee and your leg flew out. The Hermione reflex. He kissed her and her eyes closed. They soon opened yet again however and she shrieked and swatted at him.

"Ron, close your eyes!" she ordered. He was tempted to tell her to make him, but he just laughed at her sudden girlishness.

"Why do I have to close my eyes?"

"Because - "

"Don't tell me it's proper!" he cut her off.

"But it is! I don't see why you - "

"Well, come on, let's try again then." He gently combed a tendril of hair behind her ear, only this time neither of their eyes closed as they moved in to brush lips.

"Close your eyes!" she giggled against his mouth, feigning anger. "You didn't even try!"

"I don't want to try." He gave an earnest shrug.

"Why must you keep your eyes open?"

"Honestly?" His tone grew slightly more serious. He pulled his long legs onto the bed and leaned back against the wall, hoping there wasn't a spider on it.

"Of course."

"You won't laugh?"

"I've never laughed at you." She put deliberate emphasis on the word "at", indicating the fine line between laughing along with his often self-deprecating humor and laughing at his expense like many at school had often done.

"It's like – well, it's like I have to see it to believe it's happening." His voice was a low and embarrassed murmur. "Because it doesn't feel real. This." He looked down to the bed they had just been kissing on. He remembered all too well the time Fred had Apparated into his room the summer between fifth and sixth year only to find him having a wank under the bed sheets. Who you thinking about, Ronniekins? he had laughed in all too knowing manner, before Disapparating. And that was just it. Not the wanking of course, but the thinking. For so long it had been dreams and thoughts and fantasies. Now they were here on his bed, kissing and laughing and debating the proper way to conduct oneself while having a snog and none of it felt real.

"But it is real. You and me," Hermione stated then, a pleased smile crossing her face. "Finally."

Ron turned the phrase over in his head. You and me. Ron and Hermione. That's what they'd be from now on. When he leaned in to kiss her again this time, with eyes closed at last, he reminded himself to reach out and cup her face with his hand. His fingers were rough and calloused, but she hardly seemed to mind. In fact, she pressed her cheek into his palm, seeming to revel in the surprisingly gentle caress they had both apparently dreamed about for so long. Ron found it hard to remember that days ago they'd been escaping Gringott's and fleeing for their lives in Hogsmeade.

This was bliss, pure uninterrupted bliss. But like just about everything in his life, the bliss was short lived.


	9. Chapter 9

The agitated whispers were difficult to make out at first. Ron didn't know who they belonged to, but he knew perfectly well nobody ever came up to the fifth floor except to talk to him. Still, he did not immediately break away from Hermione. He'd waited too long for this. He'd waited too long to feel her lips come alive against his and actually be able to enjoy it.

"He cannot just lock himself in there!" He heard his mum shout hoarsely. Ron felt guilty for momentarily hoping they were talking about George as his mouth continued to move slowly over hers.

"Molly, you need to let him be!" The louder whisper was definitely his father.

"He should be down with his family!"

"He is coping the best he can."

"Oh, by locking himself in there with her? Doing who knows what?" At the words, Hermione slowly peeled her lips off his.

"It's Hermione!" He heard his dad laugh and Ron wanted to laugh as well at his mum's accusation. Tender close-mouthed kisses, that's what they'd been doing. Still, Hermione slid away from him at the words, as if his mum could somehow see them through the door.

"And I would hope she'd realise she's been with him every day for the past ten months. We are his family!"

"But you must remember those ten months, Molly!"

"We are his family yet he spends all his time…stuck to her!" she sputtered. Ron looked over to Hermione uncomfortably only to see she looked suddenly shameful.

"Remember, he's been through more than just the past few days though. What's happened to them this year – all three of them – it's..." His father's voice drifted away. "I don't know what it is, but Bill said they showed up at his and Fleur's last month in quite a state."

The muscles in Ron's face tightened upon hearing the words. Bill had promised he would mention nothing to the family about their arrival at Shell Cottage last month, but he supposed that had all changed in the last twenty-four hours. He wondered how many details his brother had released. This morning at breakfast he had caught his father again staring at Hermione's scar and the burns on both their hands. He knew his family would start to ask questions soon enough.

Their previous activity was, unfortunately, all but forgotten as they waited uncomfortably to hear the rest of the conversation on the other side of the door.

"Ron! Hermione!" His mother's voice sounded shrill and impatient and was followed by two loud raps on the door. Ron heard the door knob turned and he quickly slid down the bed, putting more space between him and Hermione, who just ran her hands through her hair nervously. They had hardly done anything to warrant the guilty expressions on their faces when Mrs. Weasley opened up the door. Still, Hermione looked mortified by the thought that she'd just been kissing Ron and now here she was staring up at his mother. Ron wondered if his mum knew they both had been able to hear her through the door.

"What is it, mum?" He looked to her with mild annoyance.

"I've put a spot of tea on," she informed them curtly. Ron saw the way she eyed his bed, looking for wrinkles in the sheets or signs that anything other than sitting had happened upon it. "I thought you might like to come join the rest of the family." There was a noticeable accusatory tone to her voice as she said the words.

Hermione avoided her face in a much too guilty manner as she stood up from the bed and walked toward the door. Ron wasn't sure why, but he wanted to laugh. He thought about the innocent string of kisses they'd just exchanged. He thought about their teasing banter about what was "proper" and the way he'd just gone in and kissed her again and again. He felt like a weight had been lifted. He felt an optimism and excitement towards the future run through him that he couldn't ever recall feeling before. He'd done it. He'd gotten through the second kiss. Suddenly, he couldn't wait for the third and fourth. And with his mother still standing expectantly in the door, Ron walked over, took Hermione's hand in his, moved in and kissed her once right on the mouth, and led her through the door and down the many flights of steps.

She looked aghast and very much like she'd like to wrench her hand away from him, but Ron gripped it tightly, not allowing her to break free. He was proud to be with her and saw no sense in hinting around the obvious. The two of them had danced around the subject for years, apparently to the annoyance and amusement of most of the Weasley clan and half of Hogwarts castle. Pretending like they hadn't been doing what they had, no matter how innocent it had been, was silly. Pretending they weren't whatever it was they were was equally useless.

Still, he knew it was no coincidence that the first thing his mother said to Hermione as they took a seat in the crowded sitting room was that she would set the camp bed up in Ginny's room for her. The fact that her eyes were turned to Ron as she spoke the words certainly didn't disguise their intention. He doubted anyone in the sitting room questioned their meaning either. He saw Bill hide his smile behind a cup of tea and noticed the way Harry and Ginny eyed each other, grateful to not be bearing the brunt of Mrs. Weasley's motherly instincts at the moment.

Ron couldn't remember the last time his family had all sat around together like this in the sitting room. It felt quite unnatural, especially with Fred's picture staring down at them from the mantle. He wondered if he was the only one who noticed it up there with the rest of the family photos.

There was Charlie in his Quidditch robes holding the House Cup over his head as he waved wildly, his golden captain badge glittering in the sun. There was a photo of Bill and Fleur twirling across the dance floor at their August wedding. There was Percy proudly displaying his Head Boy badge and Ginny smiling and waving on Platform 9 ¾ ready for her first year at Hogwarts. There he was with Harry and Hermione in Diagon Alley in a photo taken third year. Hermione stood in the middle of the two boys, her arms thrown around both their shoulders. She looked first to Harry then over to Ron where, if his eyes didn't deceive him, her eyes lingered just a touch longer. He eyed the photo that he hadn't bothered to look at for several years, amazed at how carefree they looked and wondering if they'd ever be that carefree again. But it was the photo beside the one of the trio that truly haunted the mantle. There were the twins, in matching dragon skin suits, grinning broadly and standing in front a GRAND OPENING sign. Fred held a box of Wildfire Whiz Bangs and George a pair of trick wands.

"Where's George?" Ron asked quietly, noting his brother's obvious absence from the sitting room where the rest of the Weasley clan was. The downcast eyes of his family indicated his mum had failed to retrieve him from his room the way she had Ron. Ron reached across Hermione for the plate of biscuits sitting on the table, willing someone to break the terrible silence.

"So Hermione, will your parents be coming on Friday?" His father spoke next, but the words were hardly ones Ron would have chosen. He felt Hermione stiffen beside him and saw Harry and Ginny look around uncomfortably.

"My parents." Hermione sucked in a deep breath. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Are they on holiday?" Mr. Weasley looked intrigued. Ron knew his father was fascinated by the various places Muggles went on holiday. He loved interrogating Hermione about what exactly happened on a ski slope and what on earth parasailing meant.

"No, they're not on holiday. Not exactly."

"Well, why won't they be coming?" Mrs. Weasley butted in, looking a bit put-out that the Grangers, who had only met Fred once briefly second year, would not be attending his funeral.

"They would come if they were able," Hermione assured.

"What do you mean?"

"Mum," Ron spoke up in protest.

"Well, she's talking as if - "

"Mum!" The edge to Ron's voice was evident to everyone in the room except his mother.

"It's been nearly two days - "

"Mum!"

"She's talking as if they don't know what's happened."

"They don't!" Ron finally blurted out.

"What?" The confusion on everyone, save Harry and Ginny's faces, was all too evident. They all looked past Ron to Hermione, who remained silent and suddenly looked quite pale.

"They don't know anything that's happened," Ron finally clarified. "They're Wendell and Monica Wilkins and they live in Australia." He moved his hand on top of Hermione's and gave it a gentle squeeze. He was pleased to feel her squeeze back, as if to assure him it was okay to reveal what she could not.

"You don't mean - "

"She fixed their memory so they wouldn't be in any danger," he explained quietly for her. "They don't even know she exists." Ron saw five mouths drop open in shock.

"When?" Mr. Weasley croaked in disbelief.

"Last summer," Ron replied quietly, "before the wedding."

"So they've been living…in Australia all this time?" Molly looked almost as ashen as Hermione. She looked like a combination of emotions Ron didn't even know a person could feel at once – horrified and amazed, stunned and saddened, sympathetic and, Ron detected, also a bit furious. "You mean to tell me that - heaven forbid - something had happened to you that your parents wouldn't even have been able to…" Molly's voice drifted and she looked to Hermione. There was a long pause. Ron saw Hermione tug anxiously on her shirt sleeves.

"Shame on you," his mum scolded, finally breaking the silence. "That was not your decision to make." His mother suddenly looked as if she was about to burst into tears, but an anger welled inside of Ron regardless.

It was the type of anger he was used to reserving only for the idiots at Hogwarts who insulted Hermione. Feeling such emotions toward his mother, especially after the events of the past two days, felt odd, but his loyalty to Hermione overwhelmed him. He even felt his fists curl.

"She didn't have a choice! The Death Eaters would have killed them - "

"That is not the kind of decision a child should be making alone!" His mother replied sharply. "No matter how clever they are! You don't have children, when you do you'll understand. A parent should have the opportunity to say g- goodbye to their child!" she stammered, making it all too clear what she was saying now had little to do with Hermione. The sitting room grew uncomfortably quiet. Ron couldn't help himself from glancing up at the smiling picture of his brother in his dragon skin suit.

"He knew you loved him, mum," Bill assured quietly, speaking the words everyone else seemed afraid to. Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief her husband handed to her, but said nothing.

"I can't believe you can do an Obliviate charm," Percy suddenly spoke, looking to Hermione with an admiration that seemed quite ill-suited for the situation.

"She didn't obliviate them!" Ron spoke defensively, appalled that they thought Hermione had completely wiped their memories. "It's temporary. We've got to go find them, see? So then she can reverse it."

"Hermione, that's very advanced magic," his dad spoke quietly. "Very deep stuff indeed."

"She can do it," Ron spoke confidently.

"It's very easy to get wrong."

"Dad!" Ron could hardly believe his dad was now going to slur accusations at Hermione as well. Did no one else see the selfless nature in what she had done?

"He's right," Hermione finally spoke, her voice sounding unnaturally small and meek.

"No, Hermione, you'll be able to do it," Ron looked to her in assurance.

"But he's right. It is very easy to get wrong. And your mum's right too. It wasn't my decision to make," she admitted with a surprising amount of composure, but then her cool façade broke suddenly. "But I didn't know what else to do." Ron shot both his parents accusatory glares as he saw her eyes glisten with tears and he instinctively moved his arm around to comfort her. "They were targeting the families of Muggle borns and I knew it was only a matter of time before they came to mine. Especially when they learned I hadn't gone back to Hogwarts."

"You could have come to us," Mr. Weasley spoke kindly. "The Ministry could have offered protection."

"The Ministry was infiltrated." She shook her head. Ron saw Percy look to the ground shamefully. "You knew it. Everyone knew it. I didn't know what else to do."

"You did what you thought was right," Mr. Weasley nodded his head, but Ron couldn't help but notice the delicate way he phrased the assurance seemed a very polite way of telling her she'd been wrong. He wanted to challenge his father and ask what else she could have been expected to do under the circumstances and what possible alternative there had been to keep her family safe, but he kept his mouth shut. "So when will you be leaving?"

"Soon," Hermione stated simply. "As soon as possible really. I was going to fly there the Muggle way so that I could return with my parents - "

"Don't be silly," his dad scoffed, though he looked quite delighted at the thought of traveling by airplane. "I can see about setting up Portkeys for you."

"Can Portkeys travel that far?" Ron inquired suddenly.

"Well, we'll have to set up a series of them, but it shouldn't be too complicated," his dad assured. "I'll have to talk to… no, Yurick's left the country and well, no Cliff got dismissed after that incident with the Snatcher, Basil might be willing to help, but with his wife at Saint Mungo's now…" he ran through a rather depressing list of colleagues at the Ministry who were either dead, missing, or incapacitated. "Regardless, we'll find someone at the Portkey Office to assist you."

"I know someone who could help," Percy offered unexpectedly. "He's a friend from my first job at the Ministry. He worked as a French ambassador and could probably assist you in getting out of country. Sometimes it's hard to get consent from the other Ministries without knowing someone on the inside, you see." He seemed quite proud both at his ability to help and the fact that he knew someone 'on the inside'.

"Brilliant, thanks, Perce," Ron gave his brother an appreciative nod.

"You intend to go with her, Ron?" His mother inquired. Her tone was much quieter and more subdued than it had been before, but the disapproval on her face was evident.

"Of course." Ron straightened up in his chair, readying himself for a confrontation. None came however. While his mother looked none too pleased at the revelation, she said nothing.

Charlie and Bill made obvious attempts to change the conversation, ranging from what had kept Fleur so long to the weather here in Devon. Unfortunately, there was only so much to say and the conversation quickly stagnated with only two people attempting to carry it.

The silence that ensued was painful. Far from the comfortable silence he and Hermione could share where no words were exchanged and their company had been enough solace, this felt forced. When anyone spoke it was clear it was merely to relieve the tension and draw focus away from the only reason they were all together in the first place. It was odd. His house always felt so cozy and natural. Even Hermione and Harry had told him that. This felt unnatural in every way. He desperately wanted to finish his tea and leave. His family was close and they enjoyed each other's company, but they didn't all sit down for tea together. The pauses were long and frequent and the absence of both twins, as George remained upstairs, was painfully obvious. Ron was almost tempted to eat up all the biscuits off the plate just to have an excuse to leave and go to the kitchen.

"I can't believe so many of your chickens survived, mum," Charlie spoke in another effort to diffuse the tension.

"I put up a charm to keep the foxes out," his mother explained weakly. "Looks like some of them still wandered off though."

"The ones that stayed sure ate up the garden," Bill commented innocently.

"Yes, we'll have a lot of work to do to get the house back in order." Ron was quite sure everyone in the room would have let out a collective groan at the words, but under the circumstances nobody said a word. "We'll have company over and I won't have it looking like this."

"I think it looks quite good for a month with no one here."

"Did you see the cloud of dust when you sat down on the sofa, Charlie?" his mum fussed. "We should get started right after tea."

"We could wait until tomorrow, Molly," his dad suggested softly. "I think everyone could use a day…" his voice trailed away and Ron couldn't help but wonder what he was going to say. His body could certainly use a day of relaxation where he wasn't dodging curses and running for his life. But Ron feared his dad merely meant a day to sit around and mull over the fact that this was all that was left of their family. That was something Ron had no desire to do.

The soft pop that sounded with Fleur's arrival finally broke up the awkward family gathering as Bill quickly departed to greet her. Charlie and Percy disappeared next and even though all Ron wanted to do was go back upstairs with Hermione and get that third kiss, he found himself instead climbing the stairs to explore Harry's new bedroom since his mum had sent both Ginny and Hermione to prepare the camp bed. Ron bit his tongue as he watched her disappear behind the door to Ginny's room, suddenly envious of his sister and wondering if Hermione would ever have the opportunity to disappear behind the door to his bedroom again.

Harry's room looked more like a large box that had been magically attached to the third floor with an extra strong sticking charm than it did an actual room. The dimensions of the already existing structure required the room to be slightly lower than the third floor so there was a rather large step down to enter it. There was also a low entryway that both Harry and Ron had to duck beneath that, when combined with the drop, gave the room the appearance of a cave.

"It's quite cozy," Ron remarked as he stepped down the step and looked around. The room was small, only big enough for a bed and a dresser and was relatively bare, though it appeared his family had attempted to decorate as best they could. There was a homemade quilt on the bed that Ron recalled used to lie on the sofa downstairs, a lamp on the bedside table he thought used to be in the kitchen, and a stack of hand me down clothes folded at the edge of the bed. He wondered if Ginny had made any attempt to decorate. There was a poster from the Quidditch World Cup and a roaring Gryffindor Lion affixed to the wall as well as a picture of the 1994 Gryffindor House team. Ron looked at the picture fondly, trying hard not to fix his eyes on the twins' smiling faces in the back row, but failing miserably. Harry looked to him uncomfortably, like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what was proper.

"It's a nice room," he commented instead.

"Yeah, aside from being next to the toilet." Ron jerked his thumb to the south wall and then pointed to the ceiling. "And beneath my parents' bedroom."

"Your parents don't still…" Harry's' voice drifted off uncertainly.

"If I hear anything, I try to convince myself it's just the ghoul." Ron wrinkled his nose and both boys blanched at the implication that anything other than sleeping went on above their heads.

The insinuation over the nature of his parent's relationship seemed to cause both boys to suddenly reflect on their own relationships however and the laughter slowly died away. Harry and Ginny were clearly back to being an item, picking up right where they had left off when Ron had walked in on their passionate kiss last August. Then Ron had fussed at Harry and gotten angry at him for messing her around. He had done nothing the past few days but offer mild encouragement. He found that what he had with Hermione, whatever it was, made him look at everybody else a bit differently. Why begrudge Harry happiness, or his sister for that matter, after all they'd been through?

"I kissed her again, y'know," Ron remarked suddenly.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah, just before, up in my room," he informed.

"Good…for you," Harry responded distantly, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"I kissed her a bunch of times actually - "

"Ron - "

"I didn't slip her the tongue or anything - "

"Ron!"

"And she kept telling me I had to close my eyes, but - "

"Ron!"

"What? Blokes can talk about this kind of thing can't they?" Ron frowned, quite confident that conversations about ones successes with the opposite sex were the kind of thing guys were supposed to talk about. Never mind that he'd not once shared any of the details of his time with Lavender with Harry.

"Hermione's like my sister, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"I'm happy for you, I really am, for both of you. But unless you want to hear about me slipping the tongue to your sister - "

"Right then," Ron cut him off, getting the message loud and clear.

" – I really don't want to hear the details."

"Right." He nodded his head in understanding. "It's just…I don't know who else to talk to and I don't want to mess this up," he admitted sheepishly.

"It's not like Charms class," Harry laughed dismissively, "it's not something you can take notes on and practice."

Ron looked down at the floorboards, feeling suddenly inexperienced compared to Harry, despite the months he'd spent with Lavender. He wanted to laugh with his friend, but he couldn't force it. His relationship with Hermione felt like the most important thing in his life right now. He had no idea what he wanted to do or what he was supposed to do now besides be with her. It was as unsettling as it was exciting. The fate of their world didn't rest on his shoulders anymore, but somehow this felt just as important.

"I could fuck up though," Ron admitted quietly, "worse than in Charms class."

"You won't," Harry assured. Ron gave him a skeptical glare then, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Okay, you might," Harry gave a laugh. "But…you'll be all right."

"It's just…it's Hermione, you know?"

"And you're her best friend." Harry gave a simple but comforting shrug then. "You've always been her best friend." At the words, Ron tried to recall when he'd realised growing up that one of his best friends was a girl. He'd fought it at first, trying to convince himself that Hermione was just an acquaintance, just a girl who sometimes hung out with him and Harry. Second year when she'd been petrified had changed all that, of course. He knew then that he cared about her a lot, enough to go into the Forbidden Forest to save her. He recalled how the boys in his year had poked fun at him when the two of them had made that first trip to Hogsmeade alone together without Harry. Some had even teasingly joked that they ought to get married. Ron had started to wonder then what made a girl friend different from a girlfriend. Was it just that they would snog? Or did it mean something more, some kind of change in the friendship dynamic? Could he still make the same jokes around her? Should he watch his mouth around her? Would they still do the same things? Four years had passed since then and he found he still didn't know the answer. How much would his and Hermione's friendship change now that they'd done what they'd done?

"You'll still be best friends." Harry shrugged, seeming to read his troubled mind. "The only difference is now you get to kiss her." He laughed then, but quickly corrected himself. "Just not when I'm not around!"

"Oh, like you never snogged my sister in front of me?" Ron appreciated Harry's attempt at levity and took the opportunity to have a go at him.

"We tried to keep it to a minimum," Harry argued and Ron just smirked back at him.

"Well, trying is about all I can promise from me and Hermione then."

Though his childhood bed offered a sense of comfort and security the four poster bed in Gryffindor Tower had lacked, Ron once again failed to sleep through the night. The memories of the battle that had haunted him at Hogwarts continued to haunt him at home. The quips, the banter, Pius Thicknesse bleeding out on the floor, then the explosion and the words he'd shouted out to Percy.

You can't do anything for him.

Somehow in that moment, he had known it. He had known then that his brother was gone. Yet he lay awake last night still unable to really process what that meant. It meant when he climbed down the stairs for breakfast his brother would not be there slipping canary creams into the porridge or replacing mum's wand with a trick one that shot out great soapy bubbles. It meant the next time he went to Diagon Alley he wouldn't see Fred behind the counter of the store that was his pride and joy. He wondered if this is how he would wake up every day, if Fred would always be the first thing that popped into his mind.

Ron stretched his legs out so his toes peeked out from the bottom of his maroon Cannons quilt. He could hear the sounds of the busy Weasley household starting their day many floors below. The strong scent of bacon had even wafted all the way up to his fifth floor bedroom. Outside his window there was a sudden loud flutter, followed by an incessant tapping and an unmistakably pitiful hoot. He looked to see his tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, hopping madly about the window ledge. Slowly, he moved to open the window and the owl came flying through in a mad dash toward Ron's head.

"Oi!" He covered his head with his hands. The bird's wings flapped about his head with such fervor that tiny feathers started flying off its body and floating through the air. Any hopes that the excitable bird had calmed down in the past year were immediately dashed. He looked out to the exterior ledge where the tiny owl had dropped a mouse nearly half the size of its head. Ron wondered if perhaps the mouse was a gift for him. He grumbled about the 'stupid feathery git' as Pug fluttered madly about his head, but the angry words could not hide his obvious pleasure at the bird's excitement over his return. "All right then, I'm glad to see you too," he laughed as he pulled on a pair of trousers. Pig soared around in circles over his head as Ron staggered down the five flights of stairs.

As delectable as the thought of one of his mother's famous breakfasts was, the memory of the awkward tea yesterday was enough to cause him to take his sweet time traveling down to the kitchen. Today people would wake up and they'd realize the same thing he had when he woke up. Fred was still gone and all they had to look forward to today was preparing for his funeral.

Yesterday had been absolutely dismal. Owls with condolence letters had arrived into the evening. Their arrival had cast a somber cloud over the afternoon. Ron had spent most of the day doing chores with his mum. She insisted he stay downstairs with her while she caught him up on everything that he had missed throughout the year. She told him about Ginny's Quidditch season while he helped lengthen the table and move it out into the garden. She told him about her decision to plant two apple trees while he scrubbed down five dirty cauldrons and looked out on the young trees. She informed him about the snow they'd gotten on Christmas Eve while he Scourgified the sitting room with her. He felt a pang of guilt when she'd reached into the closet then and tearfully handed him the sweater she'd knitted him last December. She had hoped he'd be home for Christmas. He thought about telling her how much he had wanted to be home for Christmas himself, but he was fearful she would ask more questions about his activity. He was already afraid Bill and Fleur had broken their promise about his surprise arrival at their cottage in December.

His mum, surprisingly, hadn't asked any questions however. She seemed only to want to keep him close to her. Frequently while he was cleaning the bookcase and beating the dust out of the sofa cushions, she'd reach over to smooth out his hair or straighten a wrinkle in the collar of his oxford. He felt a bit guilty shaking her off all the time, but she seemed to revel in the act of fussing over him. "I'm just so glad you're home," she had repeated on more than one occasion. The words were enough to guilt him into remaining downstairs with her a bit longer. By then, it was time to lay the table and call his siblings down for dinner, which had been as awkward and painful a meal as tea. After dinner, she had all but pushed him up the stairs, insisting he have a shower and make sure to wash behind his ears. He'd been so mortified at being treated like a child that he'd given Hermione no more than a nod of the head and a wave good night.

He had no intentions of giving her such a cursory greeting this morning however. Excitement bubbled up inside him at the memory of kissing her yesterday and he couldn't stop his mind from wondering when he would get to kiss her (and perhaps do more) today. His entire family was scattered throughout the kitchen, the garden, and the living room. Fleur and Bill were reading the Daily Prophet together on the couch, the perfect picture of marital bliss. Harry and Ginny were outside in the morning sunlight enjoying breakfast, Percy's face was buried in a book, Charlie was helping Mrs. Weasley scrub potatoes in the kitchen and his dad was fiddling with the oversized wireless that rested in the corner. Only George, who had only emerged last night for dinner under duress, was absent.

Ron shuffled across the room toward Hermione, who was drumming her fingers on the counter and waiting idly on a pot of tea to warm on the cooker. Like everyone else downstairs, she was still clad in her pyjamas and her hair was fixed behind her head into two thin plaits. The memory of their all-too brief kiss up on his bed had his stomach doing somersaults when he looked at her. He wondered how his family would react if he were to plant a big fat kiss on her right now in front of them all. He would hold a hand to her face, like he had done yesterday, the way she had seemed to enjoy so much. He would caress her lips softly with his in a way that would make her yearn for more and kiss him back with the same enthusiasm she'd shown back in the Room of Requirement. Even though he desperately wanted to try, he settled on a most sincere "good morning" and a soft inquiry about how she'd slept. The touch of longing in his voice at the question was difficult to ignore, but aside from his mum peeling her potatoes with a newfound vigor, nobody reacted.

"I slept fine," Hermione replied quietly. Her nervousness at his closeness and the somehow intimate nature of the question was muddled with the obvious look of pleasure that flashed briefly across her face upon seeing him.

"I'll be needing everyone's help today." His mum's voice sounded over the potato peeling. Ron wanted to ask what more needed to be done after the work he'd put in yesterday afternoon.

"Yes, mum," he replied obediently instead, grabbing a piece of toast and rolling his eyes at the thought of more work.

"Yes, of course, Mrs. Weasley. Anything I can do to help," Hermione echoed politely.

"Good! Well, Charlie here, bless him," she reached out and pinched Charlie's cheek, "is helping me prepare lunch. But we need to do a bit to get the house in order." She eyed the stack of condolence cards lying on the counter, as if a reminder of how many people would soon be descending upon the Burrow in the next few days. She summoned Harry and Ginny inside and immediately set about assigning everyone tasks to scrub down every inch of the interior and exterior of the Burrow. Ron couldn't help but detect the tiniest bit of disappointment in Hermione's eyes as his mum assigned them separate jobs.

He stomped up the stairs, making no attempt to disguise his unhappiness at the unattractive tasks he and Harry had been appointed to. Scrubbing the windows and cleaning out the broomshed hardly seemed comparable to the other tasks his family members had been assigned like tidying the closets and shaking out the rugs. Ron dressed himself in the dingiest pair of trousers he owned and an old hand me down t-shirt with a hole in the sleeve as he knew he and Harry would get quite dirty.

Hermione was slowly climbing the stairs as he was stomping down them. He was so angry at the whole situation and eager to complete his silly chores that he didn't bother saying a word as he passed by her, but her eyes held him and caused him to stop momentarily.

"She's just trying to keep everyone busy," she reminded him softly.

"It's a stupid chore," he complained.

"You'll be with Harry. It'll be fine."

"It's just because she just doesn't want me to be with you." He could see Hermione didn't exactly deny his sullen words. "You know that's why."

"She's got everybody else working too," she pointed out.

"It's stupid! Nobody is going to come here and pay any attention to the effing windows on the fourth floor!" he grumbled.

"I think everybody's quite glad for the distraction actually." Ron knew what kind of distraction she was referring to and he would have agreed if he hadn't been staring at her lips and thinking about the string of kisses they'd exchanged yesterday. He wasn't sure whether they should qualify as one kiss or as several. He'd fallen asleep last night thinking back on the whole course of events as their second kiss, but there had been twelve actual kisses. Twelve times their lips had broken apart and come together again. Merlin's saggy left bollock, he was going to be the kind of pathetic bloke who counted kisses and remembered anniversaries and first dates. "Anyway." She reached out and squeezed his arm then. "We'll be done by lunchtime and then we can - "

"Come on, Hermione! Let's get degnoming!" Ginny suddenly thundered up the stairs behind them, leaving Ron's mind to wander in regards to what Hermione was looking forward to happening this afternoon.

The first floor windows were easy to wash, but Pigwidgeon slowed his progress by fluttering around his head the entire time. He apologised to Harry, a bit embarrassed by the owl's behavior, and also a bit guilty as he thought about Harry's poor owl, Hedwig, and the fate she had met last fall. Harry didn't seem to mind, but Ron still couldn't help but feel badly. He wondered if Harry would get another owl. It was odd to think about him having something Harry did not.

Cleaning the upper floors proved to be a bit more of a challenge and required them to summon Percy out to help them. The ensuing effort had required quite a bit of teamwork. Together he and Harry stood on the table, on which they also perched the bucket of suds, while Percy carefully raised it to each level of the ramshackle house. They had a bit of a time balancing at first, but Percy paid careful attention to keep the table steady and they soon made quick work of all the upper windows.

Ron was oddly pleased to see the sill outside his bedroom window was covered with owl pellets and skeletons that seemed to indicate Pig had been bringing him gifts to the window all year. When they got to the other side of the house and Ginny's room, Ron stifled a grin as he saw Harry crane his neck to look inside. Neither girl was in there of course, but he was unable to help but steal a glance himself at the camp bed Hermione had slept on last night. He wondered what it was about simply looking at their beds that captivated them both. Both boys, who had previously been chattering on about taking in a Cannons game this fall, grew quiet and exchanged funny half-embarrassed looks, much like they had yesterday in Harry's bedroom. The look seemed to acknowledge the grip the two girls had over them. The only thing that used to make them both belt up that quickly had been a new broomstick.

They made quick work of the job and as it was only mid-morning, they thanked Percy and quickly readied themselves for the next task. The broomshed, which was crawling with spiders, was one of Ron's least favourite places in the world. He saw little need to clean the old stone building, but his mum insisted it be tidied up to store the broomsticks of everyone who would be arriving to the Burrow in the next few days. The corners of the structure were lined with thick sticky spiderwebs and Ron was tempted to give himself a bubble-headed charm to keep the inhabitants from dropping onto his head.

Aside from Ginny's, most of the brooms had hardly been touched in years. Many, like Ron's old Shooting Star and the ancient Moonbeam all the Weasley children had learned to fly on, hadn't been ridden for a decade. Ron looked rather sad as he picked up his three year old Cleansweep, realizing that his days of competing for a House Cup were over. He hadn't even thought about the fact that he'd be missing his final Quidditch season when he'd embarked with Harry on their journey to destroy the Horcruxes. He wondered if he'd ever play competitive Quidditch again.

Harry too looked sad as he rifled through the pile of brooms, likely feeling a pang for the Firebolt he had lost somewhere over Surrey last August. Harry picked up a slightly older model Cleansweep with a bit of red tape wrapped around the handle. Ron felt his stomach lurch as he caught sight of the old broom his brother had flown.

He remembered when Fred had put the red tape around the handle, like many things, to differentiate it from George's. Even with all the money the twins had made, Fred had never upgraded his broom. Ron remembered when he asked him why, Fred replied that you can't improve on perfection and he reckoned he and the Cleansweep were perfection on the Quidditch pitch. Ron gingerly took the broom from Harry's hands and carefully placed it by itself on a thick patch of grass. He then marched purposefully into the broomshed with his wand aloft.

"Let's just get this done," he grumbled and gave Pettigrew's wand a quick flourish. A jet of red sparks circled around the tiny stone outhouse, the walls of the structure trembled, and the spiders that lined the corners quickly fell to the earth dead.

"Bit much, don't you think?" Harry remarked at Ron's use of such a violent stunning spell for a handful of spiders.

"No, I reckon it was just enough. There's about a hundred in there." Ron motioned down to all the spiders now lying on the ground. Pigwidgeon, who was still following Ron, hopped about the shed happily gobbling up the fallen spiders.

"Well," Harry rolled his sleeves up and stepped towards the outhouse that could just barely fit the two of them. "Let's get to cleaning then."

Ron's speedy disposal of the spiders made scouring the walls and cleaning out the cobwebs with a Scourgify charm very simple. He knew his mum would be pleased. By the time they finished, the tiny stone structure hardly resembled the building that had terrified him for years as a child.

"Fred locked me in there once, y'know?" Ron spoke suddenly as he and Harry both lay splayed out in the grass beside the shed.

"When?" Harry laughed.

"Not long after he turned my teddy bear into a spider." Ron actually managed a laugh. "Kept me in there for over an hour."

"There was probably nobody in the world he enjoyed tormenting more than you," Harry offered, but his use of the past tense made the smile fall from Ron's face quickly. He knew if ever there was someone to talk to who would understand what he felt, it was his best friend. Harry seemed to want to talk to him too, but it was like yesterday in his bedroom when he'd caught him staring at the Quidditch photo. It was as if he didn't know how. Neither of them did. "Erm – want to go for a fly?" Harry proposed uncomfortably instead, glancing at the brooms lying in the grass.

Ron brushed a cobweb off his Cleansweep Eleven and looked to it thoughtfully. He couldn't help but think about the many times he'd come out here with Fred and George. He doubted he ever would have learned how to play Quidditch if not for his brothers. For all their merciless ribbing, the twins had essentially taught him to fly. They'd taught him how to make the most out of the old brooms they rode, taught him the best way to sit to reduce wind resistance and how to tuck his feet on old brooms that lacked footrests. He wondered if he'd ever be able to fly or enjoy Quidditch without thinking of the fact that Fred would never play with him again.

"I don't think so," he declined.

"It might do you some good to be on a broom again," Harry suggested, but his choice of words caused Ron's eyes to flash to him suddenly.

"What do you mean do me some good?" he replied defensively.

"Nothing," Harry retracted the statement quickly. "I just mean…I don't know - being up in the air, feeling a bit of wind in your face - it always made me feel better."

Ron suddenly recalled how after Sirius had been killed flying was about the only thing that made his friend smile. He knew Harry was only trying to help, but Ron couldn't help but feel like the only reason he was trying was because he felt like he had to. He was his best friend, after all, and he knew what it was like to lose people. In some ways Ron couldn't help but think, Harry didn't really know what it was like though.

As awful as it had been for him to grow up without parents, he hadn't known his parents at all when they'd been killed. And while he'd gotten close to Sirius, he hadn't grown up with him. He wasn't a brother. He hadn't spent eighteen years being mercilessly teased and ribbed and loved by him. Harry didn't know what it was like at all.

"I think I'll just go back inside."

"We could just have a quick fly before lunch," Harry maintained persistently.

"I don't think so."

"You could ask Hermione to come," Harry suggested then, seeming to acknowledge that Hermione could reach him in ways he couldn't.

Ron eyed his broom hesitantly and turned the suggestion over in his head. He'd daydreamed of riding off into the sunset with Hermione on his Cleansweep about a million times. The thought of flying with her might just overshadow eighteen years of memories of flying with Fred.

"I bet they're not even working," Ron murmured quietly. "I bet they're making Crookshanks do all the work."

"Only one way to check," Harry grinned. He grabbed Ron's old Shooting Star then and with Ginny's Comet in the other hand, climbed on and kicked off the ground. Seeing Harry on such an ancient and slow broomstick was an odd sight, but Harry didn't seem to mind. He zipped over to the garden toward Ginny and Hermione as fast as the Shooting Star would take him.

Ron picked up his own broom hesitantly. Each of the last three times he'd flown a broom he'd nearly been killed. He almost forgot what it was like to fly just to fly. Swinging his leg over, he sat astride the wooden handle and hesitantly kicked off the ground toward the garden on the other side of the house. Much as he had predicted, Hermione and Ginny were not working and in an odd moment of frivolity, were sunning themselves in the grass on the unusually warm May morning. The sleeves on Ginny's shirt were rolled up, but Ron noticed Hermione's covered every inch of her arms, even in the warm May sun. He had more than a hunch she was hiding the scars from her ordeal at the Malfoy's. She'd kept her arms covered since that day to everybody but Fleur, who had treated the wounds. He had seen them only in their immediate escape from the Malfoy's when he'd carried her into Shell Cottage.

"Working hard, are you?" Harry laughed, circling around Ginny so low he was practically skimming the grass. The gnomes had gotten increasingly bold in the Weasley absence, but Crookshanks was handling them with ease, swatting at them with his massive paws.

"I knew sending you two to the broomshed would end like this," Hermione sighed wearily, the way she did when he and Harry used to blow off studying to practice Quidditch. She smiled despite herself as she looked to Ron. She appeared as if she enjoyed the sight of him sitting tall on his broomstick. He thought he'd caught her eyeing him in a similar fashion the first time he'd stepped out in his Quidditch robes back in fifth year, but then she'd quickly averted her eyes. She wasn't looking away now and the smile she offered him made no attempt to hide the fact that she liked how he looked. He bowed his head and scratched his neck, uncomfortable that Harry or Ginny had somehow seen or read her thoughts the way he had.

Harry, he quickly realised however, was hardly concerned with the way he and Hermione were looking at each other. He and Ginny were locked in a tight embrace, opting to greet each other with their tongues.

"Keep it to a minimum, eh?" Ron frowned, reminding Harry of their conversation in his room yesterday.

"I said we'd try." Harry gave a laugh and the pair quickly flew off to the orchard. Hermione gazed wistfully at the flying duo, who were dipping and weaving happily alongside each other. For the first time, Ron thought it looked as if she wished she owned a broom of her own.

"Climb on then," he invited finally, hoping the cool nature of his voice could disguise the fact that should she climb on the back of his Cleansweep it would be the fulfillment of a lifetime's worth of daydreams.

"Is it safe?" she asked nervously, seeming to forget she'd ridden a broom with him twice before. He lowered the broom to the ground and rested his feet firmly on the ground so she could climb aboard and see for herself. "This doesn't feel like it's built for two." Her voice wavered uncertainly as she stepped over the broomstick and struggled with a place to put her feet.

"Technically, it's not." Ron heard her gasp nervously at his less than assuring reply. "But it's all right, put your feet here and – uh - " He hesitated momentarily and took in a great big gulp of air. "Just hold on tight to me."

He wondered if she knew his eyes were closed as he stood there clutching the broom and waiting to feel her arms around him. He'd flown with her before, but this time they wouldn't be escaping from the Chamber of Secrets with an armful of basilisk fangs or fleeing for their lives from Fiendfyre. She'd be flying with him, holding onto him, simply because she wanted to, not because she had to. Finally, he felt her hands snake around his waist and fix firmly around his body like a kind of safety belt.

"You won't go too fast?" She asked hesitantly. She scooted as close to him as she could get, so close in fact that she turned her head and pressed her cheek against his back. Ron felt his insides twist about nervously. He could feel her breasts up against his back and her heartbeat thumping against him. It felt as loud as his.

"I promise." He hoped she couldn't hear the catch in his voice as he kicked off the ground slowly.

"Where ARE you going?" His mum's shrill voice sounded from the kitchen window as soon as they lifted off the ground. Ron suddenly wished he hadn't done such a good job cleaning that particular window. "Flying around when there's work to be done and lunch is almost ready?"

"But mum, Harry and Ginny are - " Ron attempted a weak protest as he pointed in the direction the pair had gone.

"I'll mind Harry and Ginny when they get their feet back on the ground!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione dismounted from the broom quickly and poked Ron in the back in an obvious attempt to remind him to do the same.

"Yeah, sorry, mum." He couldn't help but feel like he was eleven years old and he'd just been caught stealing biscuits from the jar in the kitchen.

"You'd better get washed up!" His mum again managed to make him feel like a child as she scowled at his dirty and dusty clothes. "Charlie's made lunch and it'll be ready in a moment."

"Yes, mum." He climbed off the broom and began trudging towards the Burrow, not before turning around and searching the sky for Harry and Ginny enviously. When they went to Australia, he and Hermione would go for a fly. His mum wouldn't be there to break them apart. It would just be the two of them.

"I had no idea your brother could cook," Hermione remarked innocently as they trudged back to the house, no doubt taking notice of Ron's crestfallen demeanor.

"Yeah, we used to give him a hard time about it," he mumbled. Hermione seemed to know that when he said 'we' he was referring to the twins. Ron's eyes lingered on the corner where he always used to prop up his broomstick. Resting it there seemed a painful reminder of how many times he and the twins had done that after a practice session out in the orchard. He wondered if this was how his life was always going to be. Would everything he did and every place he looked always remind of Fred? Bloody hell, he hadn't even been able to make himself go for a fly unless Hermione was wrapped around him.

"I think it's quite fetching for a man to be able to cook," Hermione remarked as they walked through the door into the busy kitchen where his mum and brother were busying about.

"Yes, it wouldn't kill you to spend some time in the kitchen every now and then, Ron," his mum chimed in, beaming at Charlie who was pulling a pie from the oven.

"What do you want me to do with Fred's broom?" he asked abruptly, ignoring his mum's gibe. "I found it out in the broomshed." His mother gasped as if his words had knocked the breath right out of her and she reached out a hand to steady herself on the counter. He saw Charlie reach over and place his hand over hers for support, eyeing Ron in a manner that suggested he should have used a bit more tact.

"Bring it inside," she whispered, leaning against Charlie. Silently, Ron lowered his head and shuffled back out the door, his own broom still clutched firmly in his hand. Hermione followed after him.

"Do you want some help?" she asked softly.

"Think I can manage a broomstick," Ron dismissed with a weak laugh, but Hermione seemed to know the laugh was just a ruse. She fell into place next to him and leaned into his shoulder.

"You know what I mean." She knotted her fingers through his supportively.

The old Cleansweep was set aside from the other brooms the way he had placed it earlier. Somehow the broom looked sad and discarded. Almost, Ron thought stupidly, as if it knew its owner was dead and it would never be ridden again. He glanced again to Hermione and bent down to pick it up and carry it into the house. He wondered what his mother would do with it. Whether she'd want to display it somewhere or perhaps bury it with Fred.

"Set it by the fireplace." Her eyes rested sadly on the broom as if she were looking at an actual picture of Fred. Ron obliged, resting it neatly against the stone masonry then turning his attention again to Hermione, suddenly eager to talk and think about something other than Fred's old broomstick.

"I think we should bring my broom with us."

"To Australia, you mean?" Hermione inquired, looking a bit uncomfortable that he'd brought the touchy subject matter up in front of his mother.

"Yeah, and Pig too," he added.

"We can't bring an owl with us, Ron" Hermione laughed at the suggestion.

"Why not? He practically fits in my jacket pocket," Ron reasoned.

"But he won't really do us much good, will he? I mean it takes him practically a week just to get to London and back." Hermione raised her eyebrows skeptically.

"He can do it in three days!" Ron was suddenly defensive of the bird he always feigned such contempt and frustration for.

"Still, he'll hardly be able to manage trans-continental flights."

"Well, I like having him for company," Ron reasoned.

"But…you'll have company," Hermione offered quietly. Ron couldn't help but pick up on the slightly suggestive nature of the comment, despite the shy look on Hermione's face. He heard his mother practically choke from over in the kitchen. Fortunately, the rest of the Weasley clan slowly trickled down the stairs and out into the garden before she could comment.

Charlie's meat and potato pie kept everyone occupied for most of the meal. Comments were made only to state how savory it was or to pass their plate down the table and ask for seconds. Ron sensed something was coming though. He knew from the looks his mother kept giving the two of them and the momentary hesitations she would take between bites that she wanted to say something to him. She had given Harry and Ginny a thorough dressing down, which Ron had enjoyed listening to quite a bit. Still, her fury seemed subdued, as if there was something much greater on her mind.

"Ron," she finally spoke quietly and looked down the table to the two, "I wanted to talk to you about Australia."

"What about it?" Ron wasn't even sure why he asked as he was quite sure he knew where the conversation was headed.

"I don't think you should go," she blurted out what Ron guessed she had wanted to say to him since his admission yesterday that he intended to go with her.

"Molly - " His dad stepped in quietly and Ron was cheered briefly by the thought that perhaps his dad didn't agree.

"And why not?"

"I just don't think it's…a good idea for you two to go cavorting off on another adventure - "

"Cavorting?" Ron looked deeply offended at the accusation. "We're going to find her mum and dad!"

"Yes, but I don't think…" His mum licked her lips, trying to choose her next words carefully. "I don't think Hermione's mum and dad would care much for the thought of their daughter traveling so far alone with…" She swallowed loudly and took a breath. "With her boyfriend."

Everyone else at the table, especially Hermione, looked rather embarrassed as she spoke the words. It was the first time anyone had referred to either of them that way. He was Hermione's boyfriend. They hadn't talked about it, but he knew it was true. Ron ignored the funny feeling of pride that rose inside him at the words and tried to stay focused on the issue at hand.

"Is that what you and dad think?" he challenged, his anger rising. "You think we just want to go run off and be alone together?" His bellowing statement increased the discomfort level at the table tenfold. Hermione looked as if she wanted to disappear.

"No, Ron, it's not that." His father attempted to cut in again. "It's just - "

"You'd rather send her off to the other side of the world all by herself then?"

"With the Portkeys it shouldn't take more than a few days, she'd be all right," his dad assured, but the argument sounded very much like one his wife had put into his mouth and not one he believed too firmly.

"Yeah? And what about the Death Eaters still out there?" Ron laughed. "I saw the paper this morning. Five of the ten most wanted still at large?"

"Ron - "

"And what about Muggles? Just 'cause they're Muggles doesn't mean they're harmless!" he continued, recalling the drunken workmen who had wolf-whistled at Hermione on Tottenham Court Road. "She got harassed when she was with Harry and me! Imagine if she was traveling on her own?" he appealed. The table couldn't help but give a collective look of concern toward Hermione at the confession. She just bowed her head and let her great brown hair fall in front of her face. "I'm going with her," Ron stated firmly. "There's no discussion."

"We are your parents, Ron, there very well will be a discussion." His mother looked as aghast as the rest of his family at the defiant declaration, seeming to forget that his decision not to return to Hogwarts hadn't exactly been a family decision either. "Your father doesn't have to make any calls about a Portkey if he doesn't think you should be going- "

"We'll go without a Portkey then," Ron stated simply.

"You cannot just go off and about doing whatever it is you want!"

"Oh, you think it's what we want? You think Hermione did this to her parents 'cause she wanted to?"

"I dare say you two would enjoy yourselves," his mum muttered under her breath loud enough so Ron, and unfortunately Hermione, could hear. She now looked like she was attempting to camouflage herself against the tablecloth

"Are you hearing this?" He looked to the rest of his family incredulously, but they all seemed to take the same escape as Hermione.

"Why don't we talk about this a bit later," his father cut in yet again, "let everyone finish their lunch."

"There's nothing to talk about," Ron laughed defiantly. He pushed his chair out and stood up from the table. "You can't stop me from going with her!" And with that he marched inside and up the stairs to his room

He was lying face down on the bed when she entered, his head buried into his Chudley Cannons pillow.

"Go away!" he moaned into the pillow.

"It's me," Hermione replied softly and Ron sprang up from the bed almost immediately.

"Oh!" he looked thoroughly embarrassed. "Sorry, I thought you were - "

"Next time you see your mum, please don't say 'go away'," Hermione replied knowingly. She walked over and sat down on the bed beside him.

"Okay."

"You shouldn't have left the table like that."

"Probably not," he admitted sheepishly. "Does she know you're up here?"

"She does."

"Is she happy?" Ron inquired with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

"Obviously not." Hermione looked slightly embarrassed to be doing something to upset his mother. "I really don't think you should come with me to Australia if it's going to upset your family so much," she quickly blurted out. Ron frowned.

"I can make decisions without my family."

"But your parents are right. I don't think my mum or dad would like it," she admitted, a touch of embarrassment in her voice.

"They wouldn't want you traveling alone either," Ron reasoned.

"No, but I suppose Harry could come with me - "

"Do you not want me to come?"

"I didn't say that- "

"Look, if you don't want me to come - "

"I do!" Hermione's reply was immediate. "I do want you to come. I just…hearing your mum say that -"

"Say what?"

"Calling you…" She bit her lip and looked to the floor shyly then. "Calling you my boyfriend."

"It sounds a bit funny, doesn't it?"

"I liked it," she admitted quietly.

"I liked it too."

"It's just hearing her say it, it made me think about what my mum and dad would really say."

"Well, your parents like me, don't they?"

"Yes, but…" Her voice trailed away and she quickly turned a shade of crimson. "But that was before..."

"Before us." Ron smiled broadly.

He doubted two letters had ever meant so much.

Hermione, suddenly seeming to realise they were again alone on his bed, began fiddling with the corner of his Chudley Cannons quilt, which was coming undone.

"This needs mended." He smiled at her avoidance. He wondered if she'd been thinking about being alone and back up in his bedroom all day long like he had. "I could fix it this afternoon if you like."

"Hermione." He was amused at her fixation with his quilt and his smile grew.

"If you leave it like this, you could ruin the whole quilt, you know?" She toyed with the loose orange thread evasively. He couldn't tell whether she was more embarrassed or nervous.

"Hermione." He spoke her name one more time, this time softly, almost like a whisper. He moved his hand to her cheek like he had yesterday when she'd leaned into it, right before he'd kissed her a fourth time. "Relax."


	10. Chapter 10

He felt his brain go fuzzy like it was full of Nargles or Wrackspurts or whatever it was Luna said made your brain turn to mush. This was different from the last time they had kissed. He wasn't worried about how it would happen or whether or not she still wanted to or whether or not he would be rubbish. The looks they had exchanged this morning and last night at dinner indicated they were both eager to pick up where yesterday's innocent kisses had left off.

He couldn't imagine a time when kissing Hermione would just be natural, an everyday occurrence they wouldn't have to sneak around to do. He still didn't believe any of it. He was kissing Hermione. He was kissing Hermione alone in his bedroom. She'd come up to his room deliberately for this purpose. He was kissing Hermione. That was all his brain could truly process. Her lips. His lips. Kissing.

It was a different kind of kissing, too. Different from yesterday in his bedroom, different from their brief but passionate embrace in the Room of Requirement, different from any snog he'd ever had with Lavender. There was a mixture of gentleness and intensity to the kiss that he felt when he ran his fingers almost reverently through her hair. This was so much more than just a kiss. This was the anger that had bubbled up inside of him during the Yule Ball, the jealousy he hadn't even known was jealousy while watching her dance with somebody else when he was fourteen. This was the confusion those summer nights at Grimmauld Place when he finally began realising his best friend was a girl and that he found her attractive. This was the beat his heart skipped when she'd kissed him on the cheek before his first Quidditch match. This was the frustration he felt when she ignored his compliments time and time again, the feelings he'd never known what to make of for years. He could kiss her now, though. He could kiss her the way he'd dreamt about for years.

"Hang on."

She dragged her lips from his and squirmed away. He frowned at the withdrawal, but then realised that she was merely trying to free her hands, which had gotten trapped between their chests.

"Sorry," he apologised with a grin, though he was quite sure they were probably both to blame for coming together so eagerly they'd sandwiched her arms between their bodies. She gave no verbal assurance in reply, but simply lifted her newly freed hands up to his face.

"What?" he laughed, noting her flushed cheeks and unusual expression. He couldn't quite make out what it meant. She looked a bit like she did before she opened their book lists and schedule for a new term at Hogwarts.

"Nothing."

Her cheeks were a distinctly rosy color. They'd been that color since they'd first come together.

"Is this all right?" he inquired cautiously.

Her fingers simply brushed his ginger hair back from the sides of his face in reply. The intimacy of the action surprised him and he was pleased she didn't look embarrassed by it. He closed his eyes at the feel of her hands on his cheeks, the sheer knowledge that her face was mere inches from him, and before he could open his eyes again she was kissing him with a renewed vigor and enthusiasm.

All he had wanted since yesterday was to steal away upstairs like this and it felt ridiculous that this was their first chance to be alone again. He felt an odd peace and serenity up here with her, which felt odd considering the circumstances. He wanted to scream at his mum for being a bloody hypocrite and trying to forbid him to go to Australia with her. When she and dad had been his age they had practically been hitched with a baby on the way. Meanwhile, he and Hermione were still reveling in the joys of a private kiss and the ability to do things like push his hair behind his ear without eight sets of prying eyes on them.

He felt her tongue cautiously brush against his lips, mimicking the way he had just followed the line of her lower lip and tried to coax her into opening her mouth, but then she withdrew suddenly, her cheeks even pinker than before.

"Sorry."

"About what?" he inquired breathlessly.

"Just…" She couldn't get out more than that one syllable and looked as embarrassed as he could ever remember seeing her.

"That was all right." He was quite confident that the assurance was the understatement of the century. He wondered if Hermione knew there was little she could do to him that would ever NOT be all right.

"I read in France they call it baiser amoureux?" she spoke suddenly, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Call what?"

"You know." She bowed her head in embarrassment, a clear indication that she was referring to the act with her tongue she had just unsuccessfully tried to initiate. "It means 'lovers kiss'."

Ron felt a strange pit in his stomach at the word and all thoughts about whatever he wanted to do to Hermione quickly vanished. A love kiss. Is that what her hesitation was about? Did she want him to say that to her? He had said it once before, of course, but that had been more of an exaggerated thank you than anything else. He'd told Kreacher he loved him after he'd made lamb chops one night at Grimmauld Place. Besides, she'd been so nonchalant when he'd said it to her last year and they'd never made any mention of it. He wondered if she wanted him to say it now though. He felt suddenly uncomfortable at the expectation and his palms began to sweat. Sure, he loved Hermione. He loved Harry and George and his mum too. Loving Hermione, loving her the way he knew she probably wanted him to say, was different though. That was for adults. People like Bill and Fleur and his mum and dad.

"Can I bay-zay am-a-roo you?" He sputtered then, choosing to ignore the significance of the word she'd just said and hopeful that they could just get back to the snogging.

"Baiser amoureux," she corrected his horrible pronunciation with a laugh.

"Yeah, that." Ron nudged closer to her, grateful that she didn't seem to be fixating on the other word that made him so uncomfortable. "Can I?"

Hermione appeared unsure of how to respond to the forward request and she pushed a bit of hair out of her face to delay saying anything. Ron gently brought her fidgeting hand down to her lap, familiar with her nervous habits after seven years as her best friend. He wanted to tell her it was okay to be nervous, that he was a little nervous too, that he was still convinced he'd wake up any moment and find this part of his life was all just one of the twins' patented Daydream Charms he'd experienced three days ago. But all he could do was make silly jokes and edge closer to her. When she remained silent and still didn't answer his question, he raised his hand to her face. She might have thought he was just being goofy, but he had no intention of doing anything Hermione didn't want, even something so simple as this, without asking first. He would not screw this up.

Thus far all they'd really done was sit up with their backs to his headboard exchanging enthusiastic, but thus far closed-mouth kisses. In an odd way, he had enjoyed it simply because it was so different from anything he'd ever done with Lavender. When he and Lavender had first embraced, he'd been so eager that he thrust his tongue right into her mouth without so much as a second thought to what she might prefer or be comfortable with. She'd hardly seemed to mind and so they had never kissed any other way. It had always been dueling tongues and wet sloppy kisses. But with Hermione it was different. He had no idea a plain old kiss could be so pleasurable. There was something arousing about feeling Hermione Granger's lips settle against his in such a familiar way. Still, he was eager to do more than simply kiss her. He wanted to taste Hermione, really taste her. So he licked his lips then and called up a bit of Gryffindor courage.

"Do you want to lie down?" He was thoroughly surprised his voice came out sounding as calm as it did. The question seemed to ring about the room and the more time that passed without a response the more he felt like a prat. He should have just been happy kissing her. Why did he have to go and muck everything up?

"Okay." He hoped the tentative nature of her voice, when it finally sounded, belied her actual enthusiasm.

Ron sucked in a deep breath and attempted to steady his breathing as he watched her scoot down the bed until her head was even with his pillow. Hermione Granger was lying down on his bed. How many of his fifth year fantasies had started exactly this way? Ron felt his heart rate quicken and his whole body grow suddenly warm as he slowly stretched out alongside her, sliding his hips down the bed until his feet were practically hanging over the edge. He turned to look at her then as they lay side by side, their faces mere inches apart, and they both let out a nervous giggle.

"What if your mother comes in?" She looked toward the closed door. Thus far every wary glance his mum had given the two had merely been speculative. He knew should she catch them like this it would certainly raise her level of distrust. Ron could only picture her swinging the door wide open and hollering so loudly at the sight of them that everyone in the house would know what they were up to.

"Right." He reached across her body to grab Pettigrew's wand from the small table beside his bed. "Colloportus!" he whispered and gave his wand a flourish. The already closed door now sealed itself with a faint glimmer. Hermione looked impressed at the effortless display of magic.

"She'll know that's more than just a door lock." Ron knew she was well aware he had just made it impossible to enter the room from outside without using magic.

Ron plopped the wand back on the table and replied with a careless shrug. He truthfully didn't care if his great Aunt Muriel, who was rumored to be arriving in the next few days, walked in at this point.

"Well, I was about to bay-zay whatever you." His mouth hovered over hers and he grinned playfully.

"You're never going to let go of that are you?"

"Only you would bring up a language lesson in the middle of a snog." He just shook his head and laughed as he looked over to Hermione. "You're barking."

"You love it," Hermione teased. The second mention of the word that afternoon wasn't lost on Ron. This was different though. He wasn't frightened to admit that there were an innumerable amount of things he loved about Hermione. He loved that she tried to give him a language lesson in the middle of a snog, he loved that she was too stubborn to admit that she wanted to be alone with him, he loved that she was brave enough to leave his family to come and see him. He loved how that morning at breakfast she'd known when he said two sugars with his tea he actually meant three. There were plenty of things he loved about her, but saying he loved her…that was different.

"I do." He lowered his head and placed a small kiss on her neck just below her earlobe.

It marked the first time either one of them had kissed the other somewhere other than the mouth or the cheek. He looked up at her to gauge her reaction, then lowered his head and dropped another soft kiss on her neck. Her eyes closed and he smiled to himself as he watched the now familiar Hermione reflex. He kissed her and her eyes closed. Ron could not suppress the grin that formed on his face.

He knew the more time they spent alone in his room the more it gave his mother to be suspicious about. He knew the more suspicious she was, the more likely she was to put up a fuss about his leaving for Australia. But he couldn't pull himself away from Hermione and she seemed reluctant to pull away from him.

She was a quick learner. Ron knew he shouldn't be surprised. She was brilliant at everything else so it went without saying that she'd quickly find the rhythm and figure out this complicated dance. She was soon exploring his mouth and running her hands through his unkempt hair with a bit more recklessness and freedom. It was not his mother or father, nor Harry or Ginny, but Crookshanks who finally interrupted their activities on the bed. Ron opened his eyes briefly to readjust his position only to see the cat's great squashed face was staring up at him from the bedside table. It surprised him so much he jumped up from the bed and nearly bumped his head on the low ceiling.

"Fucking hell!" Ron exclaimed. The cat's yellow eyes narrowed on him. "Your cat's staring at me!"

"I highly doubt Crookshanks is staring," Hermione sighed. "I think he's just curious."

"Well, make him be curious about something else," he complained. "It's weird."

"It's a cat, Ron."

"I'm telling you, he gave me the eye on the way out the door yesterday and now he's staring at me!" Ron grumbled.

"Maybe we should go outside anyway." Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully and propped herself up on her elbows. Ron shrugged.

"Why? Everybody else is probably doing the same thing we are."

"Somehow I doubt that." Hermione gave Ron a look as if to remind him of what exactly they'd just been doing.

"I mean they're probably up in their rooms is all." He laughed. "Except Harry and Ginny, I suppose. Harry said mum won't let them be alone."

"Yes, Ginny's quite put out about it," Hermione commented. "She says it's not fair that she gets treated like a baby still after everything that's happened."

"Well, she is their only daughter. I reckon she'll have to be married before mum and dad ever let them alone. Can't say I blame them, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just that Harry did a number on her. Walking away like he did at the end of last year. You weren't here, you didn't see how she took it."

"She wrote me." Hermione puffed her chest out defensively.

"Well, she may have written one thing, but I saw her every bleeding day."

"Your sister doesn't strike me as the kind to mope."

"I'm just saying she was upset. Mum and dad probably haven't forgotten is all," Ron explained with a shrug.

"Still, it seems a bit like the staircases at Hogwarts, doesn't it? You're allowed to bring me up here, but Ginny's stuck playing cards downstairs with Harry and Percy?"

"Well, I wouldn't say mum really likes the thought of you up here either." Ron grinned mischievously, but the comment only made her sit upright.

"Right. We should go downstairs." She sounded flustered and Ron cursed himself for being so stupid as to mention his mum.

"I was only joking." He tugged on her arm as she made to exit the bed. "Stay."

"I really shouldn't have come up here," Hermione suddenly looked embarrassed, like it had only just dawned upon her that she'd left his family, chased him up the stairs and disappeared behind the door for the last hour.

"I'm glad you did," he spoke honestly. He stroked her arm softly with his thumb, silently pleading with her to stay. "I've been wanting to kiss you like that for…" He licked his lips and swallowed loudly, his throat feeling suddenly dry. For what? Weeks? Months? Years? "For a while." His blue eyes held hers and, for a moment, Ron thought she was going to confess the same thing. She didn't say a word, but simply lowered herself back onto the bed so she could lie flat on her back beside him.

"Was it all right?" The sharp inquiry surprised him.

"Was what all right?" Ron turned his head to look to her, but she was staring up at the ceiling.

"You know…" She screwed up her face, but still would not look at him.

"What?" He laughed at her vague elusiveness.

"The kissing," she whispered as if somebody five floors below would hear them.

"Was kissing you all right?" Ron laughed again at the ridiculous question, but she did not join in his laughter. She looked much too distressed.

"Was my kissing all right?"

"Better than all right!" he sputtered in amusement. He was used to seeing her so confident and better than him at everything. He had never thought about the fact that perhaps he was more experienced than her in this area. Truthfully, he found her hesitation and nervousness endearing.

"Yes, but…are you sure? I mean really?"

"I'm quite confident, yes." Ron's carefree laughter didn't seem to put her at ease at all.

"Stop laughing!"

"I can laugh when you're being ridiculous," he maintained.

"Well, I don't really know what I'm doing!" She sounded thoroughly exasperated and rather cross with him.

"You mean, you haven't read any books about this?" he teased.

"You're making fun of me." Hermione glared at him and Ron had a difficult time suppressing the smile that threatened.

"Maybe a little."

"I was awful wasn't I?" Hermione sighed. "I knew it."

"Hermione, you couldn't be awful at anything if you tried," Ron assured, but she simply gave him a disbelieving look. "Okay, chess. You're pretty awful at chess."

"Hey, I've beaten you before!"

"Yeah, but I think I let you win both those times," She rolled her eyes at the remark. "And you couldn't get your broom up our first flying lesson," he reminded her, "so you're rubbish at flying too."

"That was when I was eleven!" She seemed rather indignant now and Ron was quite pleased at how he'd managed to distract her from her earlier concern.

"And we all know you don't have a career in Divination," he continued with a joking smile and this time he was pleased to see her finally laugh as well. "So you are awful at some things." He grinned and rolled onto his side so he could face her now. "But not snogging." He reached out to touch the side of her face gently and kiss her once softly. "Definitely not snogging."

"I should go downstairs." She said the words, but Ron saw her bite her lip uncertainly.

"Stay," he whispered.

"I really shouldn't be here." She said the words, but made no effort to get up from the bed.

"I'm eighteen," he reminded her and moved a hand to her waist suggestively. "It's my room."

"It's your parents' house."

Ron could see it was a losing battle and he just sighed and relented. He was mildly amused at the fact that he could get Hermione to bend and flat out break the rules at Hogwarts, even break the law, but crossing his parents in the Weasley Household seemed to be going too far. Ron wondered if it had anything to do with having earned the cold shoulder of his mum once before, back when she thought Hermione had toyed with Harry's heart. Ron removed his hand from her waist and she immediately swung her legs over the edge of the bed and ran a hand through her now even more wild looking hair. He watched her smooth out the wrinkles in her clothes, like the evidence of what had just happened between them would somehow be obvious to anyone who noticed the crease in her blouse.

Ron had to pinch himself as he watched her from where he remained sprawled out on the bed. He could hardly believe that they had just lain on his bed and kissed and rubbed up against each other for the better part of an hour. There had been a fair share of giggles and awkward moments, but those had been fewer and fewer as time went on. There was a reluctant smile on her face that made Ron wonder whether she was thinking the same thing. He lay back onto the bed, unable to will his body from it and leave this room where so many of his daydreams were coming true. Up here his life was like a dream. Downstairs was the reality.

"You look quite pleased." He couldn't help himself from commenting on her tickled expression. The reluctant grin grew bigger and bigger on her face at his remark.

"I just…" She bit her lip and looked back down him with a shy smile. "I just can't believe how right it feels."

"How right what feels?" Ron inquired, though he knew full well what she was referring to.

"You know." Hermione rolled her eyes at his attempt to play dumb. He just grinned at her.

"I think I need to hear you say it," he teased, repeating the same phrase she had said to pry a confession out of him yesterday.

"But you know what I mean."

"But I want to hear you say it." Ron spoke more seriously now and he sat upright on the bed finally. Sure, they'd kissed twice before and held hands through the corridors at Hogwarts, but this afternoon had been different. Sometimes when they had broken into laughter in the middle of a kiss he had been afraid she would decide this was just wrong. He worried she might realise moving on from seven years of friendship was a gross mistake that would forever ruin what they had.

Seeming to sense his seriousness, she returned to the bed and sat down beside him. He was so tall she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. She looked as if she was tempted to take his hand, but she left them folded neatly in her lap. She wasn't fidgeting at all now. She looked quite composed and sure of herself.

"Being with you…" She paused a moment as if to choose her words carefully. Ron thought he felt his heart stop beating momentarily in his chest as he waited to hear her next words. "Being with you is like the most natural thing in the world." He could manage nothing in reply at the revelation that so matched his own feelings, so Hermione kept talking. "It feels like when I got my Hogwarts letter," she continued. "I got my letter and everything just made sense. Everything I'd ever done up until then, everything I couldn't explain for the longest time. It all just fit. And I knew - " She halted for a moment, her eyes dancing across the floor for a moment before returning to him. "I knew the best part of my life was ahead."

The words warmed him, almost like the way a mug of butterbeer did on a cold afternoon or the way a warm bath in the dead of winter felt. Even his toes tingled with the feeling that accompanied her confession. The best part of my life was ahead. He wanted to tell her she made him excited for the future, too, in a way he'd never felt, but he wasn't quite as eloquent as Hermione. He still didn't know what to say in situations like this.

"I never got my Hogwarts letter," he replied lamely instead. "Fred and George stole it before mum and dad could see and they tried to convince everyone in the family I hadn't been invited and my name wasn't in the book."

"That's cruel!" Hermione looked aghast, hardly seeming phased at his abrupt change in conversation.

"Yeah, I was a bit distraught. I believed them completely," he laughed at the memory. "Even when mum and dad got hold of the letter and showed me I was convinced it was a fake."

"Professor McGonagall delivered my letter." Hermione looked a bit sad as she spoke the words and though she said nothing further Ron knew it was because she was thinking of her parents.

"Did you do a lot of magic when you were little?" Ron got a funny feeling inside picturing Hermione as a small child.

"I relit all the candles on my birthday cake one year," Hermione laughed at the recollection. "It's the first magic I really remember doing. It was my fifth birthday, I think, and it was this great sponge cake with melted chocolate on top. The wind blew all the candles out, but somehow I relit them all."

"Did everyone panic then?" Ron could just picture a party full of five year olds running for the hills.

"I don't remember. I remember how good the cake was though!" she laughed.

"A girl after my own heart." He grinned affectionately at her.

"Do you remember the first magic you ever did?" She turned the tables on him.

Ron scratched his head as he sifted through his earliest magical memories.

"I dunno really. None of what I tried ever really worked. It was mostly just the twins trying to get me to do stupid stuff and it usually went wonky."

"But you could always do magic?"

"Not very well, but yeah," Ron shrugged. "I bet you could do loads of stuff." He couldn't help but think of Hermione as a child again and smile.

"I was really afraid to do things in front of my mum and dad before I got my letter," she confessed. "I was afraid if they saw – that if they knew what I could do…" Her eyes got the faraway look they had yesterday on the train. Though there was no glassy sheen to them, he could practically see the tears starting to form behind her eyes.

"I'll bet they were real proud," Ron spoke softly, finishing her sentence for her. The faraway look remained so he draped his arm around her gently and gave her a squeeze. "Hey," he called her back to him, "your parents are proud of you."

"Were," she spoke plainly. "They were proud of me."

"And they'll be proud of you again," he spoke solemnly. "Trust me."

"You don't know that."

"I know it'd take an idiot not to be," Ron replied without even thinking that he may very well be referring to her parents and his entire family as idiots. "What you did? Putting someone's well being in front of your own like that? That's not something a lot of people can do."

"You did," she blurted out suddenly. Ron saw her eyes rest just above his left eye. Though it had been inflicted almost a month ago, the mark from Bellatrix's blow after he'd implored her to take him instead was still visible. Her rings had dug deep into his flesh when she'd backhanded him, scraping a chunk away from his brow. The mark wasn't nearly as noticeable as the red scar on Hermione's throat, but it was a reminder every time Ron looked in the mirror of how he'd failed to protect her.

Aside from a brief mention of her quick thinking back at Shell Cottage, they'd never truly addressed any part of what had happened to her at the Malfoy's. Ron wasn't any more keen on reliving the memories now than he had been when Ginny brought it up. He got to his feet suddenly, eager to steer the conversation in another direction, even if it meant leaving his bedroom.

"We should go find Harry and unpack."

"Right," Hermione agreed. She pulled at the edge of her left shirt sleeve and got to her feet, seemingly as eager to move onto something else as he was. The conversation was a perfect example of how little they could actually talk about. His brother, her parents, the events at the Malfoys - the faintest mention of any of them caused them both to get funny. Ron wondered if they'd ever be able to talk about any of them again. The only time he was ever able to forget about any of it was when he was kissing Hermione.

He wanted to kiss her now. Not the way they had been on his bed for the last hour, just a brief brush of her lips simply because it was the most natural feeling in the world, she'd told him as much.

So he took hold of her waist before she could undo any of the enchantments on the door and pulled her to him. The kiss was slow and sweet, lacking the excitement of their previous embrace, but not the passion. He realized he needed one last kiss before returning to reality the same way he and Harry needed a hearty breakfast before a Quidditch match or a bit of Pepper-Up Potion before going in to take their O.W.L.S. He needed the lingering memory of Hermione's lips on his to hang over him for the remainder of the day. He needed the reminder that, just as she had said, no matter what might happen and what the day held, the best was still ahead of them.

The beaded bag looked so small and inconspicuous sitting in the middle of the floor of Ginny's room. They had put off unpacking it for days. Ron wasn't looking forward to going through its contents, but he knew Hermione was tired of wearing Ginny's clothes. He certainly had no complaints about her new wardrobe. Ginny's clothes were a nice change from the same clothes he had seen Hermione wear for the last year. Her clothes were also a bit too big in areas for Hermione too and she had to continually pull her tops up, which Ron enjoyed more than he'd ever admit.

Much like they had when he was scrubbing the windows, his eyes couldn't help but drift to the place where Hermione slept. He wasn't sure why the sight of her bed was so alluring, especially after a year of living in close quarters with her. She had made the camp bed up neatly, the corners folded neatly around the tiny mattress and the quilt perfectly smoothed with not a wrinkle on it. Ron recalled how she'd insisted on making up her sleeping bag every morning this year so that it looked neat and proper, even fussing at him and Harry to do the same. Their adventures out in the woods and the beaded bag already seemed like ancient history. Ron had difficulty looking at the bag and remembering just how often its contents had kept them all alive. He never wanted to smell Essence of Dittany or look at a vial of Polyjuice Potion again.

"You mean to tell me that little thing is the bag you were telling me about on the train?" Ginny asked skeptically from her bed as she looked to the bag that was small enough to be hidden in a sock. Hermione nodded her head, looking quite pleased at the complementary remark. She reached her arm in up to her elbow and pulled out An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. She stacked the books on the bed, beside the growling Monster Book of Monsters and Hogwarts: A History, which Ron couldn't help but notice seemed to have been set aside as if in a class by itself.

"Did you bring enough books with you, then?" Ginny laughed incredulously

"Did you expect anything less from Hermione?" Ron remarked. He picked up Break With a Banshee and snorted. "I still can't believe you brought Lockhart's rubbish book. We ought to have used this for fuel that night none of us could keep the fire going." He recalled a particularly cold and miserable day in late November when the fire they had created with a simple Incendio spell kept getting snuffed out by the wind. The trio grew suddenly silent as they all seemed to recall that the night Ron mentioned had been the last one they'd spent together before he'd left them. He wondered if Harry had told Ginny about his departure.

"I suppose Bill might like this back." Harry reached in next and pulled out the tent they had borrowed from Bill and Fleur days ago. Had it really only been that long since they'd departed Shell Cottage? Ron felt like a lifetime had passed since they'd been preparing to break-in to Gringotts and continue to Hogwarts. Bill's tent had been nicer than Perkins' tent and smelled much less like his old Aunt Muriel's flat. Ron was sad they'd never even gotten a chance to use it.

"Well, I reckon we ought to take it, Hermione." He eyed the tent and glanced back up at her. "You know, for Australia."

"You mean you still intend to go?" Ginny asked with wide eyes. Ron couldn't help but detect a bit of jealousy behind them as well. He was reminded of his conversation with Hermione about how much his sister resented being treated like a child.

"Course I do."

"Mum was furious at you." Ron knew Ginny was referring to his abrupt exit from the lunch table that afternoon. He bowed his head uncomfortably. "You should have heard her after you left the table."

"It was quite dramatic," Harry teased. Though Ron blushed slightly, he was grateful for his friend's attempt at levity.

"I just don't see how they think they can stop me," he muttered.

"You're they're son." Ginny looked about as pleased with his attitude as his mum had been.

"And I'm of age. We both are." He motioned to Hermione and sat up a bit straighter. "And I'm not going to let her go traveling to the other side of the world all alone. End of story."

"You need to be a bit kinder to her. You've been gone nearly the whole year. You couldn't possible expect her to take the news that you're going to be leaving again well?" Ron pretended not to listen to Ginny's perfectly reasonable explanation and instead busied himself with pulling out Phineas Nigellus' portrait, which was stuffed underneath twelve pairs of socks. He was fortunately not in and Ron was quite grateful as he was sure the former headmaster would not think kindly at being placed among their dirty laundry.

"I suppose I ought to take that back to Grimmauld Place at some point," Harry picked up the empty portrait frame. Ginny's breath caught suddenly in her throat at his words, causing them all to turn and look at her curiously. "What is it?"

"It's nothing."

"What?" Harry pressed, seeming to sense it was very much something.

"It's just…the Death Eaters ransacked it, Grimmauld Place," Ginny finally admitted. "Dad said Yaxley led the raid. It's completely destroyed." A guilty look washed over Hermione's face and Ron knew it was because she'd been the one Yaxley caught hold of on their escape from the Ministry.

"I didn't plan on going back anyway," Harry tried to comfort her, but Ron wondered if the words were a lie. Grimmauld Place had been Harry's only remaining tie to his Godfather. Despite the filthy decrepit feel to the building, he knew it had to hold some sentimental value. Harry had spent most of their time at Grimmauld Place holed up in Sirius' bedroom while he and Hermione had remained downstairs on the sofas in the drawing room. He knew the bedroom had been a comfort to Harry as one last link to Sirius.

"I wonder if they came to my house," Hermione murmured suddenly. "I put charms around it, but I wonder if they still got inside?"

"I bet it's all right," Ron assured as always, but Hermione looked unconvinced.

"I should probably see it before I leave." She looked distraught at the thought. "If I bring my parents back - "

"When," Ron corrected. "When you bring them back."

"-I can't bring them back to a house that's been destroyed, can I?"

"You don't know it's been destroyed," he countered yet again.

"I need to make sure it hasn't."

"Well, we'll go then," Ron offered simply. "As soon as we can. This evening if you like."

"Ron - " Ginny butted in, in obvious protest.

"I've never seen your house." Ron attempted to be cheerful, but Hermione now appeared utterly convinced that her house had been destroyed like Grimmauld Place. Nobody spoke so he hastily pulled out a maroon shirt and several pairs of jeans from the bag, cracking a lame joke about how everything they'd worn into Gringott's would probably permanently smell like geriatric dragon.

Hermione's gaze, now far away from the beaded bag and the task at hand, indicated she was thinking about her parents again. Ron knew what he'd do to cheer her up if they were alone, but somehow he sensed Harry and Ginny would both object to such efforts even though they hadn't been shy about snogging in front of them earlier that morning.

When nobody moved to unpack the bag any further he simply picked it up and emptied its contents onto the rug in Ginny's room. Harry's rucksack came tumbling out along with a whole wardrobe full of clothes, including all of Hermione's undergarments. She shrieked at Ron in embarrassment and quickly tried to cover them with other clothes on the floor.

"Well, it was quicker than taking everything out one by one!" Ron defended and his hands flew to his head instinctively to protect him from the swat he knew was coming. The blow never came however. Hermione was much too preoccupied piling up the clothes so no hint of anything ever worn under her shirt or trousers could be seen.

"You idiot," Ginny laughed at him and knelt down to assist Hermione.

"Here, we'll take our clothes down to the scullery," Ron couldn't help himself from crouching down and offering to help as well, but a very flustered Hermione just ordered him and Harry out of the room.

Ron wanted to tell her it's not like he didn't know she wore knickers and a bra. Seeing the items fall out onto the floor didn't exactly constitute a revelation. Hermione appeared thoroughly mortified, however. He couldn't help but think she got much more easily embarrassed these days. He wondered if it had to do at all with what they'd been doing up in his bedroom just before and the fact that it probably didn't take a Legilmens to know he'd been thinking about what was under her clothes.

"Come on, Ron." Harry all but shoved him out the door before he could make a further mess of things. Ron stomped glumly down the stairs after Harry, angry at himself for messing up something as silly as unpacking clothes.

He had been correct in his earlier prediction that everybody else had been holed up in their rooms the way he and Hermione had been. The ground floor was completely deserted save for his mum who was busying about the kitchen, already preparing supper. Ron almost turned on his heel to march back up the stairs upon seeing her. He knew it was childish, but he didn't care to get into another heated conversation about why he shouldn't be allowed to go to Australia with Hermione. His mum wasn't going to stop him and he doubted even the hour he'd spent up with Hermione had calmed him down enough to talk civilly with her.

Harry jerked on his sleeve in reprimand however and Ron willed himself down the stairs. His mum lifted her head to look at him from the kitchen, but immediately went back to washing the head of cabbage she had in her hands. Ron shuffled out toward the garden evasively and Harry followed after, but his mum's voice sounded before they could pass outside the door.

"I'll be doing a load of laundry, Ron," she spoke calmly, her words sounding careful and measured. He halted at the door, unsure whether the comment was an olive branch or simply an attempt at formalities.

"Hermione should be bringing some down in a minute," he spoke shortly.

"Is there anything we can help you with, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry suddenly spoke, eager to defuse the growing tension. His mum smiled sweetly and proceeded to rattle off a list of chores the boys could do. Ron just glared at Harry and they trudged out to the chicken coop together.

"What'd you do that for?" he grumbled to his friend.

"I just think Ginny's right." Harry shrugged. "You ought to be a bit kinder to your mum."

"A bit kinder? She's the one who treating me like a child! And have you seen the way she looks at Hermione now?"

"But Ginny's right - "

"I should have known you'd take her side." Ron pulled the door to the chicken coop open so hard he nearly jerked it off its hinges. It was dark inside the tiny cramped coop and Harry immediately cast a Lumos charm.

"I'm not on anyone's side, Ron."

"You know, I didn't say anything about you taking up with Ginny again!" He gathered the eggs from the straw so forcefully he almost broke several in his clinched fists. "I think it's a load of waffle the way you treated her, but I didn't say anything 'cause Hermione told me not to." The larger of the two roosters pecked at Ron as he grabbed two eggs from a nearby nest. "I don't like that you're messing with her feelings again." Ron retracted his now bleeding finger immediately and glared at Harry.

"Like you never messed with Hermione's!" Harry retorted. It marked the first time the two had really disagreed or argued in any way in a long while. Ron forgot how awful it felt. Still, he wasn't about to back down.

"That's different - "

"Saying you'd go to a party with her and then snogging another girl? Walking out on her this winter when she needed you the most? How is that any different?" At the mention of his abandonment this winter, Ron grew very still. Harry seemed to know he'd touched a nerve and for a long while neither said anything. "I'm just saying we both made mistakes is all."

Though it seemed to be water under the bridge after all that had happened, his desertion still hung over Ron's head. He ducked his head and stepped back outside into the bright afternoon light, wiping his bleeding finger off on his trousers.

"You don't know what it's like to live with that," Ron finally murmured.

"You ever apologise?" Harry inquired innocently, plopping down next to him. Their previous exchange seemed to melt away.

"Bit late for that now, isn't it?" Ron sighed. He had apologised once, in the tent, when she'd still been fuming at him. He honestly didn't think she'd even heard it. Or rather, she had and didn't care to forgive him.

"It's never too late for an apology," Harry suggested. Ron gave Harry an unconvinced shrug in return. He watched a fat grey chicken emerge from the coop. 'Maggie' he thought his mother called it. She had names for the whole flock of chickens, even the two roosters who loved to peck at Ron when he went to gather the eggs. Maggie was good at catching grasshoppers, he recalled, and laid beautiful blue eggs. He wondered what the chickens had done when his family had been forced to flee the Burrow. He knew his family hadn't had much time to leave once his whereabouts were made public. His mum must have just opened up the coop, put up a protective charm to keep things out and hoped for the best. But there had been no charm to keep things in. He wondered if any that had wandered off had survived. He wondered if chickens could feel regret and if any that had left had tried to return, but didn't know how to get back.

"You know I only did it because I care about her," Harry offered quietly. "Ended things with Ginny, I mean." Ron only grunted in reply. Seeming to detect Ron's reluctance to hear about his feelings for Ginny, Harry changed his tone. "You ought to be grateful, you know."

"How's that?"

"Your mum won't even let us in her room with the door closed," Harry managed a laugh. "Even made a rule that both of our feet must be touching the floor at all times. Bit embarrassing really. I think she charmed the floor."

"Better than the way she looks at Hermione," Ron huffed, though he was slightly comforted by the news. He and Hermione definitely hadn't had both their feet on the floor that afternoon.

He was surprised at how nonchalant Harry seemed about the situation, but reminded himself that Harry and Ginny had had plenty of time alone together last spring. They'd been able to lie out by the lake and stroll around the Quidditch pitch the way he'd always imagined doing with Hermione.

Ron grinned suddenly as he thought about the lost time they'd made up for that afternoon. He'd known Hermione for seven years. In that time, he'd learned details as mundane as her favorite color and her favorite flavor of ice cream. He knew how long it took her to get dressed in the morning and he knew the five days a month not to cross her (though he would never admit to her that he knew). He knew the look on her face when she was about to cry and he knew the best ways to make her laugh. He thought he'd seen every side of Hermione there was to see. But then this afternoon had changed all that.

He'd seen parts of Hermione he hadn't known existed. The way she'd held his face and run her hands through his hair and kissed his neck as they'd lain side by side on the bed had been possessive and reckless, in a thoroughly arousing sort of way. And it was Hermione. The same Hermione he'd known to rewrite three feet of parchment because of the tiniest of smudges and who arrived ten minutes early to every lesson. There was no one else who could appreciate how very un-Hermione like her behavior had been but Harry. Yet he knew he would not want to hear it so he kept his secret smile to himself. The rest of the chickens slowly started to wander outside and the same rooster that had pecked at Ron inside took another run at him.

"I bet you're the bugger that woke me up this morning, aren't you?" Ron glared at the large rooster and gave it a poke as he got to his feet and stepped over the fence.

"What do you want to do then?" Harry followed after Ron and climbed over the waist high chicken wire into the garden.

More chores weren't high on Ron's list of things he wanted to do, but neither was Harry's suggestion of a game of Quidditch. Quidditch reminded him of playing with Fred and memories of Fred left him feeling hollow and angry. All Ron truly wanted to do was go back upstairs in his room with Hermione and plan their trip to Australia.

When they returned to the Burrow it was apparent his mother had other plans. She had already put Hermione and Ginny to work in the scullery with the load of laundry from the beaded bag and she practically pushed him and Harry up the stairs to collect anything else that needed laundering from the rest of the house. Ron didn't bother to point out to his mum that the house hadn't been lived in for almost a month and they had only returned from Hogwarts yesterday so there couldn't be that many clothes.

She had a multitude of tasks for everybody to do that never seemed to end. It reminded Ron all too much of last August. The only difference was that last year the wedding tasks she had them do, though irritating and never-ending, had at least been attached to a joyous celebration. Now everything they did, everything they dusted, polished, or brought downstairs was in preparation for a funeral.

People arrived at the Burrow into the evening. Many did no more than offer their condolences and pass on that they would not be able to make the weekend funeral. Still others arrived just to tell them in person that they would be in attendance and how deeply sorry they were. Somehow Ron had been left the task of answering the door, which meant by the end of the day he had been forced to listen to at least fifteen different stories about how people had made Fred's acquaintance. They were his mates from school, family friends, frequent customers to his store, a French student from Beauxbatons who had apparently admired him from afar. Always they blathered on about what a wonderful young man Fred had been. Ron never thought he could hate a word so much as he hated that simple three-letter word. Had. As in something in the past, something that would never happen again. All any of the visitors talked about was Fred and how he wasn't here anymore.

Hermione didn't talk about Fred. She didn't ask Ron how he was feeling or whether he felt like talking about what happened. She was just there for him like she'd always been. And he wanted to go up to his bedroom with her and never come down. Yet here he was downstairs polishing serving trays and dusting punch bowls while Hermione was upstairs folding his underpants with Ginny. Every time he completed one of his mother's assignments she sent him off to do something else. He was growing quite tired of the charade and greatly resented the fact that he was the only one left answering the door.

His attitude was more evident than ever that night at dinner. He glared at each member of his family, jealous both of the fact that they'd escaped the manual labor he'd been corralled into as well as the fact that they hadn't been subjected to the constant stream of visitors passing on their condolences.

"The Fawcetts came by today," his mum announced. Ron had to bite his lip to keep from interjecting. She hadn't been the one to answer the door when the Fawcetts had arrived, he had. "They said they'd certainly join us after the burial." Again Ron could only grind his teeth together at the statement. He'd been the one to pass the news along to his mother that the Fawcetts would not be at the actual funeral. His leg bounced up and down in agitation. This time Hermione was not there to keep it from shaking as his mum had deliberately seated her across the table from him.

She could stretch out and rub her foot up against his though, and while a warm feeling coursed through his body at the brief contact, it did little to actually calm him. In fact, all it did was make him more eager to leave. "That brings the number well past fifty. I daresay we're going to need more chairs, Arthur."

"I think we'll be all right."

"Ron, how many chairs did you count today?"

"Thirteen," Ron remarked flatly. "Including the dining chairs, twenty-one." Hermione's foot gave him a particularly long rub at the calmly delivered reply, almost like a reward for his restraint.

"See, that doesn't leave much. We'll have to come up with at least fifteen more." Ron wondered if his mum could see that nobody else at the table seemed particularly interested in making funeral arrangements. "And all you were able to conjure today was a bench, Arthur." Ron glanced at his dad, having more than a hunch as to why his dad was having such difficulty. Nobody had done much magic and the little that they did usually came out wonky.

He looked across the table to George, who was seated as usual at the farthest edge of the table. The only time George had appeared the last two days was for meals. Ron wondered if anyone else in the family noticed that when he joined them he always sat with his earless right side to the family. Ron hardly thought it was coincidence. Unlike the rest of his family, who knocked on George's door every hour, Ron hadn't made any attempts to draw him out.

Fred had been his brother, his mother's son, but he had been George's twin. Ron didn't know what it was like to have a twin so he certainly didn't pretend to know what it was like to lose one. As far as he was concerned George could stay locked in his room for the next year. There was no need to draw him outside and pretend like everything was dandy because it wasn't. There was no use dragging him out of the room and pretending like they knew what he was going through because they didn't.

"Does anyone have any suggestions on what we should serve?"

"Could we talk about this later," Ron finally spoke wearily, annoyed by her constant need to plan the funeral.

"Well, it's easy for you to say! I'm the one who has to prepare the food," she spoke sharply. "If as many people come as have said already I'll be cooking for three straight days.

"People will bring food, Molly," his dad said kindly.

"You know I'll help, mum," Charlie replied.

"Yes, and I can help Mrs. Weasley," Hermione piped in helpfully.

"Yeah, Hermione's a good cook," Ron informed his mother. There was a touch of a challenge in his voice that seemed to set everybody at the table on edge. "Isn't she, Harry?" He looked to Harry, who while not appearing to hold the exact same sentiment, nodded his head nonetheless.

"Yes, she's quite good."

"Makes a good stew," Ron added. Despite how much grumbling he had done about her meals while camping, Hermione had managed to do a fair amount with nothing more than mushrooms and the occasional rabbit. Hermione looked down at her plate uncomfortably.

"Yes. Hermione. Certainly." Mrs. Weasley spoke in short halting words. "That would be lovely."

"We need to travel to her house in Henley tomorrow." There was a touch of a challenge to his voice and Hermione spoke quickly to correct the statement.

"No, we don't. We don't have to go tomorrow." She eyed Ron warily.

"Well, we need to go at some point. We've got to make sure the Death Eaters haven't been there." The entire table, save George who hadn't heard, looked suddenly uncomfortable at the mention of the Death Eaters.

"I'm sure it's all right," The uncertainty in his father's assurance wasn't difficult to miss.

"Well, she wants to check for herself," Ron shrugged. Hermione kicked him beneath the table hard enough so that Charlie, who was seated beside him, noticed and had trouble suppressing a grin.

"I'm sure your father can get someone from the Ministry to go."

"She wants to see for herself, mum." Ron's defiant tone returned. "It's her home."

"I can wait. Really," Hermione stammered uncomfortably.

"But we're going before we leave." Everyone at the table, Hermione included, seemed to let out a collective groan at the reference to their leaving. Ginny especially shot Ron an icy look from down the table.

"And when are you thinking that will be?" His mum spoke after a long pause. The words sounded trained and rehearsed and very much like his dad was behind them. Ron was so taken aback by the acceptance implied by the question he had to look to Hermione in question. They hadn't actually discussed their plans at all.

"Well…we don't – we don't quite know yet," Ron sputtered. His surprise was evident and Ginny even stifled a laugh at how caught off guard he'd been.

"Your father sent off a letter today to see about the Portkeys," his mum stated coolly and looked across the table. Ron guessed logistics were about the only thing she could probably discuss calmly. Percy coughed loudly in a very obvious manner. "And Percy is helping as well."

"I expect it'll take a few days to get them all worked out," his dad informed. "Kingsley will have to secure you passports and you'll probably have to go through Russia and they're notoriously strict about allowing international Portkeys."

"How many Portkeys will it take to get there, do you think?" Hermione asked inquisitively.

"I reckon about six or seven."

"That many?" Ron practically choked on his piece of chicken.

"They don't go as far as they used to, Portkeys. Too many abuses and security issues, I'm afraid," his dad explained. "People placing Portkeys in places with Muggles without going through the proper channels. It creates a real mess."

"Next to flying and Apparition, it's probably one of the highest risks of exposing our world," Percy added.

The conversation that ensued quickly strayed from their trip to Australia and instead to a discussion about breaches in Muggle security, spearheaded by Percy. Everyone seemed grateful for the change in topic. Ron eyed his mother curiously, eager to know exactly what had taken place between her and his father since lunch to cause such a change. He was grateful, but skeptical that her feelings had changed much since earlier. His suspicion was all but confirmed by the wary look she gave him and Hermione both as they disappeared up the stairs after dinner.

"There's pudding, Ron!" she called after them. "Apple crumble and custard, one of your favourites."

"We'll be down," he called from halfway up the first flight of stairs. He heard murmurings from below and glanced behind only to see Harry and Ginny glaring at him jealously as they sat on the sofa next to his dad.

"I reckon we ought to have stayed downstairs," Hermione spoke quietly as they rounded the fourth staircase.

"I said we'll come back down for pudding," he dismissed. "Just wanted to be alone a minute." He stopped before the door to his room and placed his hands on her hips, grateful he had the top floor bedroom and could steal a kiss right now without worrying about someone passing by to use the toilet.

"You want more than a minute." She laughed shyly.

"Don't you?" He raised his eyebrows in question.

She didn't reply, just grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open wide. Ron couldn't keep the broad smile from creeping across his face as they stumbled backwards, lips never breaking apart, and collapsed back onto the bed.


	11. Chapter 11

Ron never remembered his dreams. Aside from the occasional childhood nightmare featuring an oversized spider chasing after him or a dream spent flying with the Cannons, he was never able to recall what he dreamed about when he closed his eyes at night. This dream had been vivid, however. He and the twins were flying over London on brand new Nimbus 3000s alongside Hagrid, who was flying on a giant Christmas tree. They were searching for a star to put on the top of the tree when a flash of lightning had erupted from the sky and struck Fred's broom.

It had been like watching it happen all over again - Fred's joke to Percy, the explosion and then his lifeless body lying there. Ron awoke in a cold sweat, quite confident that he'd been shouting and unsure of where he even was at first. He gripped his wand firmly in his hand and his first instinct was to check the fire and look for Harry and Hermione. It took him a moment, sitting upright in the bed to remember he was in his own bedroom back at the Burrow. The war was over. Nobody had fallen off a broom. They were safe.

As these facts sunk in, he was filled with the overwhelming urge to travel downstairs and sneak into Ginny's room to see Hermione. He felt like a prat for wanting to run to her. He tried to think of other things, like how her lips yesterday had tasted a bit like a strawberry pie, but without her beside him, his thoughts kept drifting to Fred and the moment he'd looked upon his brother after the smoke cleared and realised he was gone.

He recalled the way Harry and Percy had dragged his body and stuffed it in a corner, the same way someone would drag a heavy object out of the way. That's all that Fred was now, just an object. Something to be moved from the Great Hall to Filch's Office, loaded onto the Hogwarts Express then transferred back to the Burrow where it had only recently been taken away by Mr. Underhill. It would be back this weekend, the shell of a body that used to be his brother. He wondered what kind of coffin his parents had picked out. He wondered what clothes they had given the Undertaker to dress him in. Would it be something more sporting like one of his dragon skin suits or perhaps his Quidditch uniform? The thoughts plagued him and kept him awake. He couldn't remember what Fred had even been wearing last. For some reason, that thought bothered him immensely.

He reached into a crate beneath his bed to find something to distract himself. He leafed absentmindedly through an old Cannons program reading names and statistics he had long ago memorised to avoid thinking about what his brother had last been wearing. He pulled out six years of Hogwarts supply lists, the program from the Quidditch World Cup, and issues of Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle before grabbing the homework planner Hermione had given him fifth year. He leafed through the pages he'd never bothered to scrawl anything in and smiled as he saw test dates and homework assignments she'd obviously penned in herself for him.

Thoughts and memories of life at Hogwarts began flooding his mind and finally he was able to drift off to sleep, but he awoke on day three in a world without Fred much the same as he had day two. As soon as he opened his eyes, the absence of his brother was all he could think about. Pig greeted him outside the window with a mouse and a few loud taps on the window. Ron was in no mood to have the tiny owl flapping about his head though and he just gave a perfunctory nod to the bird and waved him away.

He wondered what the day would hold. He doubted there was anything left in the house to be scrubbed, cleaned, or repaired, but with the funeral quickly approaching he knew his mum would likely find something for them all to do. All he wanted to do was continue where he and Hermione had left off in his room last night.

He was surprised his mum had allowed them to escape up the stairs together last night. When they returned, the whole family seemed to know exactly what they had been up to in his bedroom. Most had looked more amused than anything else, even his father looked to repress a grin. He had expected his mum to yell, but she'd just informed him rather shortly that it was too late and she'd put the cake away. Then she'd calmly said good night.

All in all, Ron thought it a drastic improvement to the way lunch had gone. Still, he hoped his parents weren't the only ones awake. He didn't think he could handle a one-on-one interrogation. Fortunately, Percy, ever the early riser, was already awake and dressed smartly for the day. He appeared to have made a full breakfast of toast, sausages and beans that his mum and dad were enjoying. The only other people awake, Ron was pleased to see, were Harry and Hermione. He sensed it would truly be a long time before any of them were able to sleep in after the past year of standing watch, checking the fire, and constantly changing locations. Harry, still clad in his pyjamas, was in the sitting room leafing through one of the photo albums Ron had brought downstairs yesterday at his mum's request. Hermione had taken an old book off the large bookshelf beside the fireplace and was seated cross-legged on the sofa with it open in her lap. She was still in her pyjamas as well and Ron wondered how long she had been up. She appeared to have already made significant progress in the massive book.

"Morning," Ron offered a greeting to the entire room. The effort at congeniality seemed an obvious attempt to smooth things over after last night.

"Morning, Ron. Sleep all right?" There was a look of concern on his father's face as he asked the question. "Your mother and I thought we heard you shouting." Ron saw Hermione glance up at him worriedly at the words and he quickly avoided her gaze. He forgot that his parents' bedroom was directly below his and they had probably heard him awake last night.

"Yeah, I uh – just a bad dream is all," he stuttered.

"You've never shouted like that in your sleep before." His mother frowned. "Everything all right?"

"I'm fine. Just uh…just, you know, Voldemort stuff," he shrugged dismissively. He wasn't looking at her, but he could feel Hermione's eyes on him, well aware that of everyone in the room she was the one who could see through his lies. He walked into the kitchen before she could comment, grabbed a sausage for himself, and sat down across from his parents.

He knew last night had settled things about Australia. He appreciated his parents' acceptance of the fact that he was of age and could make his own decisions. Now he wanted to take a bit of responsibility for those decisions. "Dad, I uh – I wanted to talk to you about the Portkeys," he offered quietly, trying his best to be non-confrontational. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, I'm headed into work today to get the one to France finalised." His dad smiled, seeming to sense Ron's attempt at civility. "That one was mostly Percy's doing, you'll have to thank him." Percy beamed at the acknowledgement over his newspaper and Ron just nodded his head appreciatively in his brother's direction. "I think the next one should take you through either Greece or Bulgaria and then - "

"I don't want to go through Bulgaria," Ron interrupted. He heard Hermione sigh loudly from the sitting room.

"What on earth is wrong with Bulgaria?" His mother frowned.

"I just don't want to go there."

"It's a big country, Ron," Hermione called out in exasperation from the sitting room. He heard Harry snicker from behind the photo albums.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," Ron dismissed sharply. "We just better not run into any ruddy Krum fans," he muttered under his breath.

"Good, because that's probably your best bet. You'll probably have four or five more after that."

"Four or five more? All that just to get to Australia!" Ron could hardly believe so many transfers would be needed. He was starting to think Hermione's flying aeroplane sounded better. "Can't we just go by Floo Powder or something?"

"Floo Powder only works in country. There's no international Floo Network," Percy stated. "It's not really as bad as it sounds. Even with adequate time to find each Portkey it likely won't take you more than an hour or two to get to Australia."

"We're going to have to find each Portkey?" Ron asked incredulously. He'd had enough of searching for magical objects for a lifetime.

"It won't be too difficult. Just need to pay attention to the directions when you get them." Ron couldn't help but notice his dad looked across the room to Hermione as he said the words. "You've got plenty of time before you leave. I wouldn't go worrying about anything yet."

Ron chewed on his toast thoughtfully. Would they have time to explore any part of the countries they stopped in? Yesterday when his mother had accused him of wanting to go cavorting off with Hermione, as she'd phrased it, he had laughed it off. But talk of traveling to France and Greece and who knows whatever countries had him excited about the trip in a way he hadn't been before. Suddenly he wanted to plan and he wanted to pack and he wanted to prepare for their now very real trip around the world together.

"Dad, did you hear anything more about the Malfoy trial?" Percy suddenly asked from where he'd wandered into the kitchen to refill his tea. Ron's eyes flashed to Harry and Hermione at the words.

"No, but there's an article here in the paper that says they're due in to the Wizengamot this afternoon. I'll be curious what old Lucius has to say for himself. Rumor has it he turned his estate into a meeting house for Death Eaters," his dad scowled. "Even housed prisoners in his wine cellar."

Ron nearly choked on the piece of sausage in his mouth. Harry glanced back and forth between him and Hermione, likely wondering whether now was the time to say something to his parents or not, but Ron's eyes were fixed only on Hermione. Her own eyes were, in turn, locked intently on his. Without saying a word, he knew she was imploring him not to say anything. All it would take was one small revelation that they had been brought to the Malfoys and Hermione's torture would eventually come to light, and for reasons Ron couldn't explain, he knew that was something she still didn't want revealed. They hadn't talked at all about their activities over the past year and, fortunately, nobody had yet asked about them. Ron knew it couldn't last forever though. He knew it was only a matter of time before curiosity got the better of everybody. He was surprised the press hadn't already come pounding down the door.

"They'll get whatever's coming to them," Ron spoke out sharply, his eyes still not leaving Hermione or the pink scar on her neck.

"Yes, I can't imagine Lucius will find a way to get out of this. They'll be a cell in Azkaban for him, I have no doubt."

Neither parent seemed to realise the trio's relative silence and Percy thankfully changed the conversation topic yet again to another ongoing investigation at the Ministry. Ron sensed that there was quite a shake-up going on with Kingsley now in charge. Cells in Azkaban were quickly being emptied of those wrongfully imprisoned and filling up with collaborators. He'd been especially happy to hear from Percy that Dolores Umbridge had been carted off to Azkaban yesterday. His father meanwhile had been unofficially placed in charge of the entire Improper Use of Magic office alongside Mafalda Hopkirk. Together, the two of them were tackling a host of offenses that were quite a jump from his dad's previous work with cursed Sneakoscopes and phony Pixie repellant. Part of Ron wanted to assist his dad and the Ministry in bringing in Death Eaters, Snatchers, and all their collaborators. He knew Harry felt the same. Three days of doing nothing felt like a lifetime after the past year. Ron felt like he needed to be doing something to help.

One glance at Hermione sitting cross-legged on the sofa, getting engrossed as she returned to the book in her lap, quickly caused such feelings to dissipate however. Unable to help himself, he finished his toast and walked over to join her on the sofa. He knew his parents' eyes were following him.

"What are you reading?" he inquired innocently and plopped down beside her. Hermione smiled at the harmless inquiry and flipped the cover of the book over so Ron could read the title. "The Code of Secrecy and the Foundations of Magical Government. Sounds like a real page turner," he smirked, scooting closer to her so he could read about the first Minister of Magic to actively protect Muggles. He knew Hermione was well aware he had no interest in the book and only wanted to be closer to her, but she had no objections. Ron thought he even saw the makings of a secret smile form on her face.

"You might actually like it. It reads much easier than anything Professor Binns ever assigned." She turned her head to inform him. She was so close to him he could practically feel her breath on his cheek.

"Unless there's Quidditch in it - "

"Quidditch does play a huge part in the history of the Ministry, I'll have you know!" Hermione seemed all too happy to inform Ron.

"Let me see that." Ron seized the book from her playfully. "You know, I think you're the first person in the family to ever take this off the shelf," he teased, noting the book's dusty cover. Harry lifted up his eyes briefly and smiled across the room at the cozy pair and their teasing banter. Even his parents could hardly object to the innocent flirtation. Ron didn't touch her, he didn't kiss her, he didn't do anything that might cause his mother to object. He was just happy to have her there beside him and be able to call her his.

She was his now, of that he could confidently say. Any uncertainty he might have had previously melted away with yesterday's events. He trained his eyes on her as she read, recalling how confidently she'd initiated last night's kisses and tackled him back down onto the bed. Then there was the way she'd tilted her head back, actually inviting him to work at her neck. He looked intently at the place right below her ear where he'd busied himself for a time. It was a strange sort of feeling to look at her and recall those memories right here in front of Harry and his parents.

They sparked all other sorts of thoughts in his head. Sometimes, on the rare occasion he looked past what would be for lunch that day or what they'd do that afternoon, he looked at Hermione and thought about the future with her. Not just their trip to Australia or the next year, but an actual life. He knew it was ridiculous of him to think that way after barely three days, but there was no part of his future right now that didn't include her. He couldn't stop thinking that way if he wanted.

Maybe they'd get a flat together after she finished at Hogwarts. Maybe they'd both get jobs at the Ministry. Maybe they'd have breakfast and read the Prophet together every morning like his mum and dad were doing right now.

The rest of the family slowly trickled downstairs as the morning wore on. Charlie smirked at Ron's spot on the sofa next to Hermione, and Ginny simply rolled her eyes, though Ron could see she had difficulty suppressing a grin. Charlie suggested a family game of Quidditch once everyone had washed and eaten breakfast, but Ron still felt sick at the thought of Quidditch. He knew George probably wouldn't partake. George probably wouldn't even come downstairs at all today unless somebody dragged him out and the thought of a game without either of the twins here at the Burrow felt wrong somehow. His sister didn't seem to have any hesitations about flying sans Fred and George however and she raced upstairs to get dressed. At Fleur's urging, Bill joined them too and even his dad had promised to climb on a broom and have a go. That sight alone would usually be enough to cause Ron to join, but for the first time in his life he passed up Quidditch to read a book.

Hermione's feet were tucked beneath her and her body was angled slightly toward him. He leaned into her and looked over her shoulder, the smell of her hair and her neck and her skin flooding his nostrils. He wondered if he would have done better in History of Magic if this is how he had studied. He wasn't reading every page, but from what he could glance, it did seem more interesting than anything Professor Binns had ever assigned them to read, though he'd never admit it to Hermione.

"I knew all this already, of course," Ron boasted as he glanced through a page describing a Quidditch match between Puddlemere and Portree.

"You knew that in 1362 the Wizard's Council made a decree about playing Quidditch within 100 kilometers of a Muggle establishment?" she looked to him skeptically.

"Of course, it's covered in Quidditch Through the Ages," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Ron Weasley, are you telling me you read a book for fun?" Hermione closed the book and craned her head to look up at him.

"Maybe once or twice."

"Did you check it out from the library?"

"I can find it without you, you know." He laughed and his mouth found hers suddenly.

"Ron, not here!" She looked around the sitting room nervously.

"What? They're all up at the orchard."

"Percy's still upstairs having a shower, George is in his room, and your mum's just out in the garden!"

"Let's go up to my room then," he proposed, moving in to kiss her again.

"I think we should go out to the orchard with the rest of your family."

"I don't feel like playing Quidditch," he dismissed.

"But your family – don't you want - "

"I just want to be with you," he stated simply and he could see she had a hard time arguing with the simple confession. The thought of being alone with her again was genuinely the only thing that got Ron through each moment. "Or are you telling me you'd honestly rather read a book?"

"It's just that - "

"Now's the best time we have to be alone." He took her hand and stood up from the sofa. "The Code of Secrecy will still be here, I promise."

She was reluctant to get up from the sofa, but the look on her face told him she was having difficulty resisting the thought of continuing what they'd started yesterday. Last night was the first time there had been no giggling. They hadn't broken apart at any time to laugh at where his hand was or how he kissed her neck. Gone was much of her earlier uncertainty. Last night had just been about tasting each other and feeling each other and escaping from the new normal downstairs that Ron detested, the new normal of the Weasley family minus one.

Her hesitancy continued as she climbed the five flights of stairs with him though. He tried to ignore the shameful look on her face as they reached the door and quickly sealed it off with the usual myriad of charms.

"We're not doing anything wrong," he offered honestly and led her over to his bed. It was the truth. Despite whatever his parents and the rest of the house might think when they disappeared behind his bedroom, they kept all their clothes on. They were just kissing, exploring and reveling in the moments they had denied each other for so many years.

Crookshanks appeared from beneath Ron's bed at his words. The cat had, for some reason, taken to Ron's room more than Ron cared. Ginny had informed him it had been that way all year, even with the ghoul there. He gave a loud caterwauling meow and glared up at Ron. Ron got the feeling that the cat did not particularly care for Hermione's new interest in him. She scooped up Crookshanks, who continued to eye Ron and sat down on the bed.

"I just don't want to make your mum angry," she explained as she clutched the great ball of ginger fur.

"She's always angry at me. If it's not this, it'll be something else, I promise."

"But I don't like that we missed pudding last night and that everyone's down at the orchard right now and we're up here- "

"Everyone's not at the orchard, remember? George is here. Percy is here. Mum is here."

"Most of your family is at the orchard," she corrected.

"I just don't want to be at the orchard."

"Don't you think it'd be fun to play Quidditch with your family?"

"No," Ron stated plainly. "I can think of about a million things more fun than playing Quidditch with my family right now."

"I think you're being a bit - "

"I don't want to play fucking Quidditch, Hermione!" He raised his voice slightly. "But if you want to go then go. Take your bloody cat with you!" He regretted the rude comment as soon as he said it, but where she would usually retaliate with words or tiny fists pounding him for his insensitivity and rude language, she just looked at him sadly. She wore a familiar look of disappointment on her face that he hated seeing, but he had difficulty taking the words back. "I just don't get what's wrong with you being here," he admitted.

"It just feels wrong," Hermione admitted, placing Crookshanks back down on the floor. Ron's head shot up at the words. "Not the being with you part," she quickly assured. "Just the part where we're in your parents' house with your mum right out the window and I know she doesn't want me up here in the first place."

"Well, why did you even come up then?"

"You know why," she replied shyly. Her embarrassment somehow only made Ron want her more.

"I'm eighteen years old, Hermione. My mum was practically pregnant with Bill when she was your age." His attempted words of comfort had the opposite effect and she seemed to grow more uncomfortable. Ron detected it was probably because of his moronic mention of pregnancy. "She's a bloody hypocrite if she won't let you come up for a snog."

"I'm just a guest in their house and – and it does not feel right to - "

Ron silenced her with a kiss before she could offer any further protest or argue about propriety. His mouth moved slowly against hers, a gentle, lingering touch of the lips that invited her to respond. He smiled against her as her arms instinctively wrapped around him in that wonderfully possessive way. This is why she'd come upstairs with him. He loved the fact that she couldn't fight it.

She fell back onto the mattress, pulling him down on top of her, but he propped himself up on all fours, his body hovering over hers for a moment. She'd be able to feel things if he were to lay on top of her like this. And while he wasn't the same fourteen year old boy who had to walk the corridors with his History of Magic textbook in front of his trousers, he was quite sure what they were about to start doing would make such things hard to hide.

The only time their bodies had ever touched like that before had been after tumbling down the chute into the Chamber of Secrets. He'd jumped down first and had fallen on his back onto a pile of rat skeletons. She had followed after and fallen face first directly on top of him. They had looked to each other then, their bodies mashed together and their faces mere inches apart. For a moment Ron had forgotten completely about the battle raging around them. He had thought that was the moment, but she had seemed to remember their purpose and had gotten to her feet quickly, announcing they had a Horcrux to destroy. He wondered if Hermione was recalling the same memory now as she looked up at him.

Her eyes looked quite similar to that moment down in the Chamber, the only difference being that this time they didn't have to march off to destroy a Horcrux. She blinked slowly and turned the corners of her mouth up. The small smile was all the encouragement he needed as he finally relaxed and lowered his weight onto her. He could both feel and hear the breath go out of her and she shifted beneath him, in an effort to get comfortable and adjust to the intimacy of the new position.

"Is this all right?" he couldn't stop himself from asking hesitantly.

"Better than all right," she echoed his words from yesterday and captured his lips with hers.

After three days, the feeling was miraculously enough becoming so normal he'd finally stopped counting. He'd lost track somewhere around forty yesterday. Still, each time he kissed her it felt a little like that first time she'd flung her arms around him and sent basilisk fangs cascading everywhere. His brain went fuzzy and she literally became the only thing in the world that mattered. Good boyfriends probably told their girlfriends things like that, but Ron wasn't sure how to say that without sounding like a complete twat. Besides, now it wasn't just a fuzziness in his brain. He could no longer think clearly when he was with her, or even think at all.

The fuzzier his brain got every time they kissed, the more other parts took stronger hold over him. Parts of him that he knew were likely to become quite obvious in their current position. The past two days had been brilliant and he wanted to touch and taste so much more of her. So far, all he really did with his hands when they embraced was tangle them up in her hair or run them up and down her back and she certainly seemed to enjoy every kiss and caress. Still, he could just see himself fucking up by trying to grab her bum or have a feel only to be confined to weeks of hand-holding and pecks on the cheek.

With Hermione it had always seemed to be one step forward and two steps back. Every time he thought he had managed to impress her back at Hogwarts by doing something clever or actually turning his homework in on time, he'd follow it up by something ridiculously stupid. Not just blowing up a cauldron or dripping ice cream down the front of his shirt stupid either. He'd fly into a jealous rage at the mere reference of Krum or inadvertently insult her by bringing up the time she turned into a cat.

He heard her inhale sharply through her nose and felt her clutch his shirt as his lips slid wetly down her throat, kissing softly where her neck met her collarbone. He opened his eyes briefly to scan down her body and glance at the tiny valley between her breasts he could just detect. Was it worth risking a reprimand and a week of hand-holding? Hermione had been bossing him and Harry around since they were eleven. He knew she had no problem telling him off when he screwed up. Surely, she'd give him a thorough dressing-down if he somehow made her feel uncomfortable.

He grinned against her as he recalled just how insufferable he'd once thought she'd been. How life had changed. She twisted the fabric of his shirt, a soft sound he thought might be a moan sounding in her throat as his hands slid around her rib cage and his thumb just barely brushed the bottom curve of her breast. Hermione had just moaned. A good moan too, not a 'what a stupid idea' moan or an 'I'm exhausted' moan. A soft tiny moan that indicated he'd done something good. Something so good she'd had no control over the sounds coming out of her mouth.

Without even thinking, his hands made to duplicate the action that had elicited such a response. His long fingers stretched out boldly, climbing up the tiny swell of her breast until his whole hand was cupping her. For a moment it just rested there and Ron forgot that he'd actually done this with a girl before. It didn't matter anyway. That girl hadn't been Hermione. He buried his face in her neck and gently gave a squeeze.

He could feel nothing beneath but the soft padding of her bra, but that didn't matter. Her breast was beneath the padding. She was letting him touch her breasts. With not even the slightest of hesitations, her right hand moved across her body then and rested on top of his. She wasn't just letting him do it. She wanted him to do it.

Ron hoped perhaps his heart pounding against her chest would take attention off other parts of him he could feel stirring. He could tell she didn't know quite what to do. If she was feeling at all like he was, her hand atop his was probably all the assurance she could manage right now. Ron didn't trust himself to say anything so he just squeezed again, gently kneading the soft flesh and the fabric and hoping it was okay. Neither said anything for the rest of the morning. They just kissed and grabbed and rubbed and squeezed. That was how they spoke to each other. Aside from Crookshanks' glaring yellow eyes, they remained entirely undisturbed.

Ginny eventually came by upon returning from the orchard to deliver a message through the door that their mum was looking for them. Ron knew 'looking for' meant she knew exactly where they were and what they were doing. The mention of his mum caused Hermione to break away momentarily, but a carefully placed kiss quickly drew her back to him. It was only when his hips began to grind uncontrollably against her, with his lips pressed to her neck and his hands about to slide beneath her shirt, that she finally withdrew from their liplock.

Ron stammered over an apology, somehow unable to get the words out as he cursed himself for getting carried away. "I wasn't trying to – I just – I didn't mean - "

"Yes, you did," she managed a laugh as she wiggled out from beneath him. There was nothing accusatory in her tone though and Ron just looked to her curiously. This new Hermione was so straightforward at times it caught him off guard.

"Well, I did, yeah," he admitted. "But it's not – I don't want you to think - " Ron wasn't even sure what he was yammering on about. He wasn't exactly sorry about the way he'd started moving against her, but he definitely didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

"It's all right," Hermione sat upright then and ran a hand through her wild looking hair. The flushed colour Ron could detect in her cheeks gave him the inkling that it wasn't that she hadn't liked it. More likely was the fact that she had liked it quite a lot. More perhaps than she was ready to at the moment. He understood and gave a smile, feeling more content than he could remember in quite some time. "Let's just talk a bit." She ran her hands through her hair again.

"Talk?" Ron propped himself up on his elbows with a crooked grin, highly amused at the suggestion. They hadn't done much talking at all since sealing his bedroom door. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Quidditch," she blurted out suddenly. "I want to talk about Quidditch."

"Quidditch?" He looked skeptical and rolled onto his side to face her. "But you hate Quidditch."

"I don't hate Quidditch, I just don't…I don't quite get it."

"You mean to tell me you made it through six years at Hogwarts without knowing the rules?" Ron looked to her incredulously.

"No, I mean, I know the rules obviously. I just don't quite get the…obsession. Like Chudley," she motioned to his Cannons quilt, pillowcase and poster. "Tell me why you love Chudley." She was quite serious, but he just exploded into laughter at the request.

"I dunno, I just do!"

"But why?"

"Just because!" he sputtered.

"There must be a reason."

"I feel like I'm being brought before the Wizengamot," he laughed. "I dunno, I just always have. 'Cause it's close by I suppose. Y'know, here in Devon. Dad took me to a match once when I was little."

"None of your brothers like them though, do they?"

"No, Percy doesn't care much for Quidditch. Bill was never as into it as Charlie. Charlie always liked the Wasps for some reason. Fred and George…" His voice drifted off abruptly. For a moment he almost lost himself in thoughts of his brother and his Quidditch associations, but his eyes returned to Hermione and he brought himself back. "They always liked Puddlemere."

"So how did you end up loving the Cannons so much?" she continued to question.

"I dunno," Ron shrugged. "I just do. Why do you care so much?"

"Well because." She shifted on the bed and turned her head so she could look at him. Their heads were so close together he could practically count her eyelashes. "Because I want to love them too." She offered an honest smile and Ron's heart fluttered nervously in his chest. He knew it was her way of conveying more than simply a newfound interest in Quidditch. Unsure how to react or what to say in response to the confession, he simply leaned down over the edge of his bed and began rummaging through a box containing an assortment of programs, sticker books and assorted clothing – all of which were violently orange and adorned with the trademark black double C of Chudley.

"Here." He finally pulled out an orange wool hat and plopped it atop her head. "You can have that." He knew Hermione recognised the hat. He had practically lived in it in the cold winter months their first few years at Hogwarts. Even though Ron had worn it when he was thirteen it was still big on Hermione's head. She laughed and folded back the hat so she could look at him from beneath it. He knew his old Cannons hat was hardly a fancy piece of jewelry, but the significance of his giving it to her seemed to register with both of them. "They're bloody awful though," he spoke quickly to alleviate the odd tension that suddenly filled the air between them. "Prepare yourself for a world of disappointment."

"Well, it'll just make it that much more special when they finally win the Championship, won't it?" she grinned.

"Talking like a true Cannons fan already," he laughed and they collapsed back against the bed. This was all they ever did, just laugh and talk and kiss, but it was truly the only thing he wanted to do. It wasn't just the snogging. His room was the only place he wanted to be and Hermione the only one he wanted to talk to.

Sure, he enjoyed being with Harry and Ginny and meals with his family were pleasant enough, but there was always something that was amiss. An owl would fly through the kitchen window with a condolence card or someone would mention Fred and immediately go silent. Up here he could mention Fred's name and tell a story and they didn't have to linger on the fact that he was gone or talk about how much they missed him. They didn't have to prop his broom up in a special place where everyone could see. Up here it was just him and Hermione.

Sometimes he sensed she was annoyed at his increasingly isolationist tendencies though. Already today she had suggested four other things to do outside of his room, to include eating biscuits downstairs, taking a walk through the orchard, having lunch with Harry and Ginny, and hopping on his Cleansweep for a quick fly.

"Wouldn't it be fun?" She asked as they lay back on the bed side-by-side and stared at the ceiling. She was stuck on the idea of going for a fly.

"Yes, but, I know a way I can have more fun." He eyed her suggestively, but she just rolled her eyes and ignored the comment.

"I'll even let you try that Wonky Feint thing if we go," she proposed.

"Oh, you would not let me. You would scream so loud."

"I would not."

"You know you would." He saw an involuntary shudder run through her as his breath was heavy against her skin.

"I think we should go."

"Don't think so much," he dismissed again. This time he dropped a kiss in the crook of her neck and swiftly moved his body on top of hers, no longer hesitant like before.

"Ron!" Thanks to the Muffliato charm they'd cast she could raise her voice without worrying about alerting anyone else in the house.

"What?" He looked grumpy and rolled off her.

"I want to go downstairs." There was a firmness to her voice that indicated any flirtatious suggestion she might want to do anything else would do nothing to change her mind. In fact, he could tell by the sharp downward slope in her eyebrows that it would likely only irritate her. She stood up from the bed and, as she always did, smoothed out her clothes, like she was wiping away evidence of what they'd just been doing.

"Fine," he pouted. "Go then."

"You don't want to come?"

"No," he stated flatly and stretched out on the bed.

"You should come downstairs."

"I don't want to," he stated plainly.

"I know you don't, but I'd like you to join me." Her voice softened as she sat down on the bed at his feet. He was staring at the ceiling, eyeing a knot in the wood that looked too much like a spider for his liking. "Look at me."

"Why?" he asked after a long pause.

"Because I asked you to," she said calmly and she looked surprised when those simple words caused him to turn his eyes to her compliantly. "I know what this is about."

" 'Cause you know everything, Hermione," he grumbled.

"I didn't say - "

"It can't just be I want to stay up and snog my girlfriend!" he spat and his reference to her as his girlfriend, even in such a nasty manner, surprised them both as it was the first time either had used the term.

"We can't stay up here all day, Ron," she actually managed a laugh when she saw him raise his eyebrows at the suggestion. His eyes softened and the angry lines on his face slowly disappear. "As delightful as that sounds."

"Everyone else is up in their rooms."

"Not like this." She glanced at the clock beside his bed, indicating just how many hours had passed since they'd left the sofa and the Code of Secrecy. "I saw what happened last night at dinner…when your mum asked you to lay the table and you - "

"That was an accident," Ron interrupted, the irritation evident in his voice.

"You did it at lunch too and when you - "

"It's only natural, Hermione! That's how I laid the table for eighteen years."

"Okay," she nodded her head in agreement. "But how come you didn't take his plate away?"

"Please, stop," he sat up abruptly so he was now at eye level with her and not lying on the bed. "It was a mistake, an honest mistake."

"What about last night? Your parents said you were shouting in your sleep."

"Can't you just come back?" Ron touched her shoulder, inviting her to join him back down on the bed that had become his new favourite place. Hermione swallowed loudly, but remained seated. She turned her head to him slowly and Ron was surprised to see her eyes suddenly wet with tears.

"I'm so sorry he died." She tried her best to make her words slow and strong, but her voice broke. It was the first time either of them had truly acknowledged what had happened to his brother. It was the first time anyone had ever really said the words so bluntly to him. He guessed her use of such a frank word like "died" wasn't accidental. He could see it had required serious effort on her part just to say the word. He knew she was only trying to help him, but he didn't want to hear it.

"Well, I'm glad you're sorry." He flopped back down onto the bed wearily.

"I want to help you - "

"I don't need help, Hermione." His tone again got increasingly hostile and he could tell by the look on her face that she didn't believe him for a second.

"Tell me what I can do for you," she offered plainly.

"You can stop talking about it!" he thundered. "Christ, Hermione, that's the effing reason I like staying up here in the first place. 'Because you DIDN'T ask me about it!"

"I didn't ask, Ron. I just said that I'm sorry he died."

"Stop saying it." His voice suddenly sounded small and defeated and not nearly as hostile. "Please, just…just stop. Just stay up here a while longer with me. Please." He reached for her.

"I don't think I should," she whispered softly, sounding as if the words were almost painful to say. "I need to talk to your dad about the third Portkey and I really should help your mum with dinner - "

"Please just stay," he pleaded. "You asked what you could do to help…it helps." His tone was deadly serious as he looked to her earnestly. "And I'm not just being randy, I swear," he managed a laugh.

"Well, you need to at least eat something," she reasoned, likely knowing food was usually the easiest way to get him to do anything. He tugged her arm, as if to tell her there was something he now enjoyed more than food. She let him pull her down so she toppled down on him. "Five more minutes," she warned, allowing his arms to snake around her.

"Ten," he argued.

"Seven."

"Nine," he countered.

"Seven," she maintained, looking to the clock face beside his bed, as if to emphasize that she was going to hold him to the deadline. "Seven minutes." He looked thoroughly pleased with himself for talking her up from five minutes. "And then we'll fix lunch and help your mum with the chairs and maybe we can take a turn around the garden." He knew she had thrown in that bit about setting up chairs for the funeral between two things he actually wanted to do on purpose.

She was tricky and she knew exactly what she was doing. He hadn't been right to yell at her. He knew that. He did need to go downstairs and eat and see his family. But he didn't want to argue about who should give the eulogy and what pictures they should display and whether they should prepare Fred's favorite pie for after the service, which is what happened every time he went downstairs. For ten minutes longer he at least could live in this world where his brother wasn't dead. For ten minutes he could remain in a world where Hermione was all that mattered.


	12. Chapter 12

Ron had made a point to avoid reading the Prophet the past several days. Most of it was plastered with Harry's picture, photos of the Hogwarts ruins, or articles about the Battle that he had no interest in reliving. Today the front page promised the start of a new daily column titled "Profiles of the Fallen", in which one of the fifty-four fallen warriors from the Battle of Hogwarts would be profiled each day. Today Nymphadora Tonks' face graced the front page in a photo that looked like it had been taken sometime between Bill's wedding and the day Teddy had been born. Her face almost seemed to glow and her hair looked lighter than he could ever remember.

Her smiling face was the first thing Ron saw as he lumbered down the stairs with Hermione. Ginny and Harry were both seated on the sofa in the sitting room. They appeared to have already read the paper and were looking through the same old photo albums that Harry had been looking at that morning. Ginny, no doubt, was regaling Harry with embarrassing stories about Ron and glossing over anything about herself.

"It's a good picture of her, isn't it?" she lifted her eyes from the album as she noted Ron looking at the front page. "They've already sent an owl asking for pictures of Fred." Ron winced, not at the mention of his brother's name, but at the thought that the Prophet was going to run an article about him. "Harry and I are trying to help mum pick one out. Want to help?"

"I'll pass," Ron remarked dryly, thinking he'd much prefer spending an hour locked in the broomshed with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. "Do you want a sandwich?" He looked to Hermione in question then and reached into the breadbox. She looked thoroughly surprised by the offer, but nodded her head. Ginny looked to find the question entirely too amusing.

"How come you never offer to make ME a sandwich, Ron?" she teased.

"Because I don't like you," Ron smirked.

"I've never seen him offer to make food for anybody else in my entire life," Ginny laughed. Ron wanted nothing more than to tell his sister in rather colourful language what she could go do to herself, but he bit his tongue, remembering how he'd just blown up at Hermione upstairs. "Anyway, go turn to page three," Ginny informed, once she saw he was not going to engage her in their usual verbal sparring.

"Whuss on 'age 'ee?" Ron asked from behind a giant loaf of bread, which he now had clutched between his jaws. He was also trying to balance a jar of pickle, a brick of cheese, and a bag of crisps to his chest. Ginny gave Hermione a pitiable gaze as she looked between her brother and her boyfriend. She patted Harry playfully on the head, as if grateful he wasn't attempting to carry an entire loaf of bread in his mouth too. Summoning a bread knife from across the room, Ron began slicing the bread into four pieces for the two sandwiches he was set to prepare.

"You expect me to eat that bread now?" Hermione frowned. "After it's been in your mouth?"

"What? Like you haven't been in my mouth?" He rolled his eyes. Hermione's hand moved so quickly to slap him upside the head Ron hardly knew what hit him. "Hey! Gerroff me!" he protested. Hermione just looked over to Harry and Ginny in utter humiliation, her cheeks a deep crimson. The two thankfully seemed to pretend they hadn't heard the comment or seen the ensuing attack, though Ron could clearly see Harry sniggering behind the photo album. "What? It's not like they don't know." He rolled his eyes at her modesty then continued his quest for lunch ingredients. "Has mum got anything but corned beef?"

"Well, the Diggorys brought a ham over this morning while you two were…occupied, but mum wants to save it for Saturday," Ginny informed and then again directed them to turn to page three. Ron grumbled about the ham being unavailable and began to slice the brick of cheese. Hermione chuckled at him as he seemed to eat a piece of cheese for each one he sliced.

"You want to have a cheese toasty?" Ron proposed suddenly.

"Can you make a cheese toasty, Ron?" Ginny inquired before Hermione could even reply. She may as well have asked if Ron could fly to the moon on his Cleansweep, the tone of surprise in her voice was so evident.

"Do you want one?" Ron ignored his sister's incredulous comment, but couldn't help notice that Hermione looked to be in as much disbelief as Ginny. "What?" He puffed his chest out a bit. "I can make stuff."

"You never helped with the cooking this year!" Hermione scoffed. Ron heard Harry mutter something under his breath that sounded very much like an agreement.

"A cheese toasty isn't cooking," Ron remarked. "Do you want one or not?"

"I'm fine," Hermione declined, much to Ron's dismay. Though Hermione seemed to have forgiven him, he still felt guilty about getting so cross with her upstairs when she'd asked him to come downstairs. He doubted he could make it up to her with a cheese sandwich, but he figured it was a start.

"Oh, someone sent over a case of butterbeer as well," Ginny added suddenly and Ron's eye lit up until she added that their mum wanted to save that, too. "Go to page three!" she all but shouted now.

"In a minute," Ron muttered irritably and continued his methodical preparation of the two lunch plates. He was, much to Hermione's apparent amusement, now slicing the sandwiches into neat triangles and pouring some crisps out onto each plate. Finally obliging Ginny, Hermione picked up the Prophet and turned from Tonk's picture to page three. A tiny gasp escaped her lips when she did and when Ron looked up to see what had caused the cry of disbelief, the knife he was holding clattered loudly to the floor.

"I told you," Ginny sighed from the sitting room.

There across the top half of the page was a photo of him and Hermione taken the night the Great Hall had broken into applause for them. Harry was in the picture as well, but the photo was very clearly focused on the two of them. It looked very much like the candid type of photo Colin loved to snap, but then Ron remembered sadly Colin couldn't have taken the picture. He couldn't even recall seeing camera flashes that night. Had there been people from the Prophet there? He was so intent on trying to figure out who could possibly have taken the photo that he hardly took the time to read the headline beneath it. There in big block letters was the bold headline "DUMBLEDORE'S SECRET TASK FORCE".

"Mum's already ordered about fifteen copies," Ginny announced.

"Is it a…good article?" Hermione inquired cautiously. Ron knew she was hesitant when it came to the press. They all were. The Prophet, after all, hadn't exactly been a bastion of truth and honesty the past few years. Their eyes both scanned the multi-paragraph article briefly before Hermione picked up the paper and began reading aloud.

"The unsung heroes of the wizarding world may be unfamiliar faces today, but their names are likely to be known the world around once the full account of their tale is made public. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, both 18, are believed to have been assigned a secret mission by deceased Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore. "

"Who talked?" Ron cried, but Hermione just continued.

"The two, along with longtime friend and classmate Harry Potter, had been at large since August undertaking a still unknown but highly dangerous assignment. Though the specific nature of the assignment will likely remain classified, it is believed the three were tasked with helping to defeat the dark wizard Voldemort. Many believe they were searching for and destroying magical objects, which led to his eventual defeat by Potter. Weasley and Granger are no strangers to such assignments, having battled Death Eaters in the Ministry of Magic break-in in 1996 and again at Hogwarts Castle in the spring of 1997. Weasley, whose father is a Ministry of Magic employee and whose brother…" Hermione paused momentarily, swallowed a lump that seemed to form in her throat and continued on. "-whose brother, Fred, was killed in Saturday's battle, was sorted into Gryffindor House in 1991 and was a two-year member of the Quidditch team. "We always tried to teach him right from wrong," Arthur Weasley said of his youngest son. "He knew the path he chose to take wouldn't be easy, but we are so proud of him for taking it."

"When did dad talk to the newspapers?" Ron blushed furiously and looked to his sister, who just shrugged.

Granger, whose parents are dentists in the Muggle world, was also sorted into Gryffindor House in 1991 and is held in very high regard by both classmates and professors. Professor Filius Flitwick stated she is the "most perceptive witch" and the "sharpest mind" he has ever taught in 34 years at Hogwarts. Ms. Granger's parents could not be reached for comment."

Her voice trailed off at the last line and she appeared to lose herself for a moment as she set the paper back on the counter. Ron snaked an arm around her waist supportively and stared at the photo of them. The article was the kind he would have done anything for when he was back at Hogwarts. A bit of notoriety, a photo where he was featured and Harry just an afterthought, but he found the feeling of his name appearing in print at long last a bit hollow. It was like the ovation in the Great Hall. There were so many other people who deserved praise. The article didn't mention Dobby or any of those who had launched their own battle of resistance back at Hogwarts.

"I reckon someone from the DA must have said something about what we were trying to find," Harry grumbled, visibly annoyed at how much the article stated about their quest. "Maybe Neville."

"He did have a lot of firewhiskey that first night," Ron scratched his head as he looked over the article, rereading the phrase about 'magical objects' carefully. "Least they don't mention the Horcruxes outright, right?" he murmured, realizing Ginny was there too late. "I mean, the uh – the hor…the hor - "

"It's okay, she knows," Harry informed, cutting off Ron's stammering. Ron looked relieved only for a moment. He was still afraid of his family finding out he'd abandoned Harry and Hermione. Hewondered how much Harry had told her. His sister laid into him for every little mistake he made. He knew if she ever found out he had left them, she wouldn't ever let him live it down.

"Well, I mean, at least they're kind of vague about it," he tried to come up with a silver lining. 'I mean, 'magical objects that led to his defeat' could be anything."

"I don't like it." Harry simply sighed in exasperation. "Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted people guessing about what we were doing and what Riddle had done. It's why we weren't supposed to tell anyone."

"But you told her," Ron blurted out suddenly, nodding toward Ginny. He recalled their talk only days ago up in Gryffindor Tower and how put out she had been about the secrets they all held.

"It's Ginny," Harry stated simply, as if that was all the explanation needed. Ron wanted to remind Harry that his sister wasn't exactly the world's best secret keeper, but he kept quiet. "Anyway, your dad said Kingsley wanted to come by today or tomorrow to talk to us."

"What? When did he say that?"

"This morning at the orchard when we were playing Quidditch," Harry informed. Ron knew he hadn't meant it as a barb, but the comment stung. Harry knew more about his family right now and talked to his dad more than he did.

Ron knew it was only a matter of time before the Ministry came asking questions. Truthfully, he'd expected to be hounded sooner, but he reckoned Kingsley had shown restraint out of respect to his family.

"He said he heard at work you might all be recommended for Order of Merlin."

"I don't care if they want to put us on a bunch of bloody Chocolate Frog cards," Ron grumbled, suddenly in a foul mood. The thought of sitting down and talking to the press about everything they'd been through made his stomach twist into knots. "I don't want to talk to anyone."

"They have to know what's happened," Hermione spoke plainly. "Otherwise, the papers will just speculate." She motioned to the paper in front of them. "You know they will."

"Let them speculate all they want," Ron dismissed. "They'll never figure out they were Horcruxes. Look how long it took Dumbledore!"

"They'll put it together though. They can talk to people who saw us," Hermione reasoned. "Harry and I were talking and they already know we broke into the Ministry and into Gringotts. They must know we were looking for something that's guarded."

"When were you and Harry talking?" Ron suddenly felt like it was last fall again.

"Just this morning before you woke up," Hermione dismissed.

"But my parents were up, and Percy - "

"We were both up before them," Harry shrugged.

"Ron, if we talk to Kingsley then he can give an official Ministry response. Then you don't have to talk to the press," Hermione reasoned, seeming to sense his discomfort.

"That doesn't mean they still won't come knocking after we talk to Kingsley!" Ron argued.

"Who's to say they won't come knocking if you don't?" Hermione reasoned. "We can't hide forever, Ron," she turned to him and the way she looked at him made Ron wonder if she was referring to more than just the interview. "Besides, the more you hide from the press…the worse it'll be in the long run." Ron suddenly wondered what else Harry and Hermione had talked about this morning and whether her attempt to draw him out of his bedroom had been the result of their conversation. The thought of reliving the past year was such an unpleasant thought Ron thought he might lose his appetite. He had the sudden urge to disappear to Australia right now.

"I don't like it, believe me. But I think we need to have an ally in the Ministry," Harry sighed, sounding resigned to the fact. "We can't let anybody outside of Kingsley know about the Horcruxes or the Elder Wand."

"I get that, but - " Ron began to mount another argument, but it was Hermione's own protest that cut him off.

"But you already mentioned the Horcruxes when you were facing Riddle, Harry," Hermione frowned suddenly and her voice trailed away. "You told him they were all destroyed."

"I know," Harry groaned loudly and ran his hands through his messy black hair. He looked thoroughly frustrated with himself in a way that was all familiar to Ron, but bizarre to see on Harry. Ginny stroked his arm tenderly. Ron tried to ignore the tender action and how much it reminded him of the same thing Hermione did to him.

"I didn't hear you say anything about it," he offered suddenly, recalling the dramatic duel between Harry and Voldemort.

"You didn't hear anything he said?" Hermione looked incredulously to him.

"Well, I did. I mean, bits here and there, about Snape and all, but bloody hell, it was Voldemort! Mostly, I was watching his wand and waiting for him to have a go at Harry," Ron shrugged. He looked to his best friend then and actually managed to laugh. "Honestly, Harry, I was waiting for you to shut up and get on with it. I didn't pay much attention to what you were saying! I reckon Hermione was hanging on every word because, well, she's Hermione, but I was watching you more than I was actually listening."

"I guess we just hope everyone else was like you," Harry looked slightly cheered by his friend's honesty.

"I can't believe you weren't listening," Hermione scolded.

"Bloody hell, it's not like I wasn't paying attention! I was watching his wand!" Ron fired.

"And you can't watch and listen at the same time?"

"I caught the important stuff!" Ron puffed his chest out and the two began engaging in the familiar banter that had dominated their relationship the past seven years. Ron found it to be strangely comforting. Harry and Ginny just laughed and returned to the photo album.

"Where is everyone anyway?" he inquired, changing the subject abruptly.

"Up past the orchard," Ginny spoke quietly after a long pause. "Trying to decide where the family plot should be."

"Family…" Ron started to ask, but the word died in his throat. They were picking out the spot where Fred was to be buried and where this whole generation of Weasleys would one day be interred. Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, himself, the image was too morbid to think about. "Has George been down at all today?"

"No more than you two have," Ginny remarked. Ron ignored the pointed comment and looked down to the sandwich he had yet to touch. Then he thought of his brother locked upstairs in his room. He hadn't spoken to his brother at all since arriving at the Burrow.

"Has he eaten anything?" Ron frowned.

"Mum tried to get him to come down," Ginny remarked sadly.

"I think I'm going to bring him a plate," Ron announced then, picking up the sandwich he had made for himself and marching suddenly toward the stairs.

They creaked loudly beneath him as he moved hesitantly up toward his brother's room, sandwich in hand. His eyes took in the letters and stickers the twins had applied to their door with sticking charms over the years. Some of them were of their own brilliant design. He remembered how furious his mum had been when she'd discovered those were affixed permanently to the door. They'd even gone so far as to make a charm so any attempt to remove the DO NOT ENTER sign resulted in a string of vulgar insults to the person who tried to remove it, which had of course set mum ablaze. He gave a tentative knock and called George's name through the door.

"Hey. It's me, Ron," he offered lamely, as if his own brother didn't know his voice. "I just – I thought you might want a sandwich. It's erm – it's cheese and pickle 'cause mum won't let us have the ham." They were hardly the first words he expected to speak to his brother after four days, but he reckoned George would appreciate the food. He felt strangely uncomfortable talking to him and he pressed his ear against the door to listen for any kind of response. "It's probably lousy 'cause I made it, but there's a bit of crisps too. Mustard, I think," he looked down to the plate. "I know, not my favourite either," he commented, as if George had actually answered him. "Anyway, it's just us downstairs, see. Hermione, Harry and me. I thought you might want to come. Everybody else is out." He rambled on, but could hear nothing through the door. George was either asleep or ignoring him. Ron wouldn't blame him for either, not with people knocking on his door every bleeding hour asking how he was. "I'll just leave it here then." He placed the plate on the floor outside his door. "I made it so…yeah, it's probably rubbish. Sorry."

He moved away from the door and slowly dragged his feet down the stairs, wondering when he would see his brother again. George seemed to have chosen the same manner of coping that he had, which was escaping to his room away from everyone else and all the reminders of Fred. Except, Ron realised sadly, he didn't have anyone to distract him like he had Hermione. He had to sit in the room he had shared with his brother for seventeen years, the room that probably still smelled like Fred and still had his dirty underpants lying in a corner.

His entire family had arrived back at the house in the brief time he was upstairs talking through the door. They appeared very red faced and out of breath as if they'd just climbed Stoatshead Hill. He wondered just how far off they were setting the family plot.

"Ah! Ron, Hermione! Was wondering when we might see you again," Mr. Weasley smiled at the sight of the two of them as he pulled off his cloak. Ginny snorted at the unintentionally pointed comment and Hermione just blushed faintly.

"Can we have any of the ham, mum?" Ron inquired, doing his best to pretend like he hadn't heard the comment.

"No, dear, the Diggorys brought it for the funeral."

"I told you," Ginny sighed.

"What about the bacon?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Blimey, mum, what can we eat?" Ron spoke sharply.

"There's corned beef," Mrs. Weasley remarked and Ron saw everyone in the room just bite their tongues. He didn't even bother correcting her. He just ground his teeth together and set about making a corned beef sandwich, having passed off his two best efforts at lunch to Hermione and his brother. His big brothers buzzed around him, practically snatching the cutlery and condiments right out of his hand as he attempted to prepare his sandwich. They were chattering on about the funeral while they did, about the decision to move it up to Thursday, about who would be there and how long it would last. Hermione seemed to sense Ron's agitation because she reached out and touched his arm softly.

"Why don't you go upstairs with Harry and Ginny?" she offered then. "I can make you a sandwich and bring it up."

"Got her making your meals for you already, eh?" Charlie teased and Ron felt his face grow hot at the inference that he and Hermione were already like husband and wife.

"Well, he's already made me one," Hermione murmured, appearing equally embarrassed as she pointed to the sandwich Ron had sliced neatly into triangles, "so it only seems fair."

Her words quieted Charlie, though he was still grinning wildly at Ron. It was his mum's expression that Ron noted however. He thought for a moment that she was going to give him a hard time like Ginny had when he'd offered to make the sandwich for Hermione. She said nothing as she stared intently at the sandwich though, just fixed her gaze on it like she was looking for some kind of clue. She looked back at Ron then and he didn't know what to make of her expression. She cocked her head to the side, looking almost proud. It was similar almost to the way she'd looked on him three days ago in the Great Hall. Like she was seeing him differently somehow. Ron looked to the plate, wondering what the big deal was about a sandwich.

"I made one for George too," he mumbled uncomfortably.

"Oh." His mum seemed able to only utter one syllable in reply. "I'm sure he appreciated it." She dabbed at her eyes and Ron knew she was well aware George hadn't even come to the door.

Every one of the Weasleys looked like they were thinking about George then. Ron suddenly felt like running back upstairs to attach a note to his sandwich in warning that said "stay upstairs". If he were George, he wouldn't want to face this somber bunch either. Their expressions alone looked like they were talking about a doomed man, somebody gravely ill or about to die. He'd choose solitary confinement over being surrounded by that too.

"Go on." Hermione nudged Ron toward the stairs. "I'll join you in just a minute."

His instinct was to wait for her, but it felt like the mere mention of George and his reclusive tendencies had caused a dark cloud to descend on the first floor. So he left Hermione behind and trudged back up the stairs to his sister's room. Harry and his sister settled down on the floor so Ron did the same, wondering what exactly they were planning on doing. He couldn't help but think it reminded him of the way he, Harry, and Hermione had always sat down to plot out their plans.

Ron felt a strange pit in his stomach as he realised he, Harry, and Hermione, hadn't really spent any time together since that morning in the Gryffindor common room. In the three days since Harry had taken down Riddle, Ron realized they'd gone from being a trio to two duos. His sister hugged her knees to her chest and looked to him uncomfortably, seeming to be thinking the same thing.

"So you and Hermione seem pretty intense," she commented with a knowing smile. "Catching up for lost time quickly it seems." Again, Ron just grunted in reply so she continued. "You know, Harry and I were thinking we might come with you to Australia."

"What?" The statement caught his attention.

"Yeah, with you and Hermione!" she replied brightly. "That way mum won't be so weird about it. You have to know she still hates that you're going."

"What?" Ron practically shouted the word this time.

"We talked to dad and he said he can get Kingsley to clear us to go too."

"What?" His voice grew increasingly louder at the thought of Harry and Ginny accompanying them.

"Ginny - " Harry piped in.

"You're not coming with us!" Ron fired.

"Ginny," Harry interjected again.

"Oh, it'll be fun! The four of us, traveling all together!" Ginny looked unnaturally cheery and it was then that Ron realised Harry was grinning slightly.

"You're taking the piss, aren't you?" Ron was un-amused by the prank.

"Like Harry and I would want to spend four days watching you get off!"

"Fuck you," Ron grumbled, feeling foolish at having fallen for her stupid prank. Honestly, sometimes his sister acted so much like a bloke he wondered how Harry could put up with her.

"I'd say the same to you, but I think Hermione's already got that -" she continued to tease, but halted as Hermione suddenly entered the room with a plate of sandwiches. Ron felt his ears burn. Even Ginny looked slightly embarrassed at having said the crude comment, even though Hermione hadn't seemed to hear. Either that or she was really good at being oblivious.

"I hope this is all right." She set the plate of sandwiches down as she settled onto the ground beside him. Ron saw she'd cut the sandwich the same way he had and had even added a side of mustard crisps too. He lifted up the top piece of bread to inspect the sandwich. He noticed that she sliced the cheese thicker than he did and wasn't as liberal with the pickle, but it still looked delicious.

"Thanks." He glanced to her appreciatively, knowing full well why she'd encouraged him upstairs. He wondered what his family had discussed and if he'd missed learning any other important information like the funeral being pushed up to Thursday.

"So what are we talking about?" she inquired, placing her hand on his thigh as she folded her legs beneath her and settled onto the floor. It was an intimate gesture, one he could see was not lost on Ginny. She kept her teasing comments to herself though as Ron knew she'd never say such rude things in front of Hermione. She simply raised her eyebrows in surprise. Though pleased by the possessive action, he was even a bit surprised by it. Holding hands was one thing, but this indicated a kind of familiarity with each other's bodies that she wasn't at all bashful about showing.

"What we're going to tell Kingsley," Harry informed, clearing his throat loudly, as if to take the focus off Hermione's hand they all now seemed to be looking out, save Hermione. "I was thinking Ginny could play the part of the interviewer. That way, you know, we'll have an idea of what kind of questions to prepare for."

"It makes sense," Hermione agreed and reached down to take a bite of the sandwich Ron had prepared. "So let's begin."

What did they eat? How did they procure food? Where did they camp? Ron doubted Kingsley would really want to know the mundane details Ginny was inquiring about and he got increasingly agitated the more she pried.

"Do you really think he'll want to know every single step we took all year?" Ron sounded dubiously to his sister's line of questioning.

"No, but I still think we need to tell him everything," Harry shrugged.

"If we give the complete story once then we can trust Kingsley to put out an official Ministry version. He wouldn't betray us," Hermione argued.

"Right, he won't want copycats anymore than Dumbledore did. He's the Minister of Magic now," Ginny piped in. Ron felt suddenly like he was being ganged up on.

"Fine," he shrugged his shoulders and relented. "I just don't think telling him where we camped every night is particularly important to the overall picture."

"All right, so what next then? After Ron got splinched?" Ginny carried on her interrogation.

"We just searched for the next Horcrux," Harry shrugged casually.

Ron had to laugh at how simple Harry's words made the task seem. He knew even if they were to explain how those long hopeless months had gone, the hunger pains, the anxiety, the mounting anger and frustration, Ginny still couldn't even begin to understand what they'd all been through.

"So you destroyed the first one?"

"Yeah, Ron did eventually," Harry replied.

"Ron destroyed it?" His sister looked even more astounded than when he'd offered to make Hermione a cheese toasty.

"That such a surprise?" Ron grumbled.

"I just…I didn't know." Ginny looked to him incredulously. "How did you destroy it?"

"We got the sword of Gryffindor. Ron used the sword to kill it." Ginny raised her eyebrows and looked to her brother.

"What was it like? I mean, it's a piece of Voldemort, right?"

"Do you really think Kingsley would ask that?" Ron was eager to steer the conversation away from destroying the horcrux.

"He was a dark wizard catcher before he was Minister of Magic. Horcruxes are dark magic, right?" Ginny reasoned. "I mean does it try to fight back?"

"I guess," Ron shrugged uncomfortably. "In its own way."

"What do you mean?"

"It just makes you…see stuff," Ron mumbled, his words nearly incomprehensible. It was the first he'd ever really spoken about destroying the Horcrux in front of Hermione. He truly didn't want to have to talk about it in front of his sister as well.

"What kind of stuff?" she pressed. Ron saw Harry look to him, he could see his friend trying to come up with some way to circumvent the issue. He knew Harry was well aware he didn't want the world knowing Voldemort had seen his heart and what it had nearly gotten him to do.

"Just…it just shows…" Ron stumbled over syllables and words, trying to figure out what to say. What could he say? Somehow he doubted simply saying it talks to you would suffice. The Horcrux had known his soul, his innermost desires, all his misgivings.

"It shows your worst fears." Hermione surprised Ron by interjecting. He suddenly recalled the pained look on Hermione's face as the water had swirled around both of them in the Chamber of Secrets. She had looked like she was about to cry, like she was being tortured. "It makes you see your worst fears and it's not something that's…particularly fun to relive." The way she spoke the words caused Ron to wonder what exactly it had shown her. He'd never asked her because he didn't want her to turn the tables on him, but suddenly he was curious.

"Sorry." Ginny looked embarrassed at Hermione's sharp, almost scolding, words. "So erm…after you destroyed that where did you go?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood's."

"Luna's dad? Why?"

"To ask about the Hallows. But no, that doesn't work if we don't want to talk about the other Hallows," Hermione sighed.

"I bet Luna's dad wouldn't be keen to have the world know he tried to turn Harry in," Ron suggested then. "I bet he'd be just fine with us just leaving that bit out. Besides, you Confunded him so he wouldn't remember talking about them, remember?"

"That's true," Hermione looked like she was turning the notion around in her brain. "It still leaves a gap in our story though."

"We just kept looking for Horcruxes and then we ran into the Snatchers," Ron shrugged.

"That's what Kingsley'll want to hear about most," Harry reminded them. "Who they were, what they looked like, what they did."

"I can tell 'em the one roughed me up clear enough. I remember the smell of him as much as anything else," Ron muttered. That's where it had all started, his inability to protect her. He'd tried to defend her and the Snatchers had punched him twice in the face and wrestled him to the ground. Ron felt his fist curl protectively at the mere recollection of the way the werewolf had breathed down Hermione's neck and how he'd been able to do nothing but watch.

"Where did they take you?"

"To the Malfoy House." Harry looked to Hermione warily as he said the words. "Bellatrix was there. They took us prisoner and she wanted to know how we'd come by the sword."

"And we wouldn't tell them, but then Dobby Apparated us all out," Ron butted in quickly, purposefully glossing over Hermione's torture and many other details he knew would be important. The imprisonment of Ollivander, Dean, Griphook, and Luna, were all things he knew that they should mention.

"Dobby saved you?" Ginny's face was aglow at the mention of the little elf, but it fell quickly as she saw the morose look on all their faces. "What?"

"Bellatrix threw a knife at us as we were Disapparating," Harry spoke quietly. "We made it to Shell Cottage, but…she hit Dobby."

"No!" Ginny's eyes welled with tears suddenly. Ron found somehow it hurt more remembering the little elf now than it had at his funeral. Whoever said time heals all wounds was a liar. He felt worse about Dobby's death now, when he could see so clearly how much he owed to the little el, than he had at his burial. He'd been so worried about Hermione then, of course. She'd still been retching every hour and Fleur had carried out a basket of bloody bandages from her room that had worried him. "How did Dobby know?" Ginny's brow wrinkled suddenly. "How did know where to find you? How did he know to take you to Shell Cottage?"

"Ron told him to go to Shell Cottage," Harry shrugged.

"But how did you know? Bill and Fleur didn't move there until after you three had left," Ginny frowned.

Here it goes. Ron braced himself for the moment he'd desperately wanted to keep hidden. He'd have to tell it now. He'd have to explain why he'd left and the things he'd said to Harry. His sister would never forgive him. He'd never forgive himself.

"How did you know?" she pressed.

"Because I left them," he admitted meekly. "I left them and I went to Bill and Fleur's because - "

"Because we sent him out to scout safe houses!" Hermione blurted out quickly. Ron both looked to her in confusion, even Harry looked taken aback at the sudden lie. "And to get a survey of how things were going. We needed to know the state of things."

Ron could hardly believe her ability to make up such a convincing lie so quickly. Damn, but she was good at this. It did make sense. He had found a safe house for them while he was gone. He had taken the pulse of the Wizarding World. He'd learned about Snatchers and the Taboo. It made sense they would send him out. But it didn't make sense that Hermione would cover for him.

"And you went out there? All by yourself?" Ginny looked to her brother admiringly. Ron felt embarrassed by the sudden respect, which quite frankly he felt like was the last thing in the world he deserved.

"He did." Hermione was looking at Ron now with a forgiveness he didn't think he deserved either. Sure, his desertion had been months ago and it seemed water under the bridge now in light of all that had happened, but he still had never really explained himself and they hadn't talked about it. "For weeks he was all by himself and he found his way back to us on Christmas," Hermione spoke warmly, talking about him like he was some kind of hero.

"Talk about the best Christmas present ever," Ginny laughed.

"Yes, the best Christmas present ever." Hermione looked to Ron with assuring eyes.

"Then from Bill and Fleur's we planned our break into Gringotts, which was where we knew the Horcrux was," Harry carried the conversation away from Ron's desertion. Ron looked to his friend appreciatively. He wasn't any more comfortable with Hermione lying for him than he was with the truth and was glad for the change in conversation.

"How did you know it was in Gringotts?" Ginny fortunately jumped onto the next part of their quest. Her questions continued. How they had found the vault and located the Horcrux, how they escaped Gringotts, why they'd known to come to Hogwarts. Ron kept shifting positions on the floor, unable to get comfortable, even with Hermione's hand still resting on him. He felt like hours had passed by up in Ginny's room telling their stupid story. He couldn't imagine doing this again tomorrow.

"You know the rest now, eh?" Ron proposed as they finally got to the events at Hogwarts.

"Hardly!" Ginny scoffed. "You all disappeared. You kept me locked upstairs for most of it." She looked quite put out by the recollection and even shot Harry an accusing glare.

"That was for your own good," he maintained.

"Where did you two go that you got soaking wet? Why did you all smell like smoke? Why did you go to the forest? People are going to ask questions. They saw you lot running around. They'll want to know. They'll talk."

"Then let them talk," Ron sounded dismissively.

"You don't mean that." Hermione looked to him. "They'll come up with stories that aren't true then and then you'll get angry."

"I don't care."

"You do care," she insisted.

"Don't tell me what I care about," Ron spoke sharply from behind clinched jaws. Hermione's hand, which was still on his leg, stopped its gentle soothing movement at the brusque words. The words had flown from his mouth without even thinking and he quickly stumbled for an apology, feeling suddenly guilty. That was twice today he'd snapped at her. "I - I know what you meant, I just…" His words trailed away wearily. She meant he wouldn't like it if people started saying he did something in the Battle or was somewhere else than where he really was. The truth was he'd be upset no matter what they said, truth or not. He couldn't' tell Hermione that though, not when he seemed to be the only person so reluctant to talk about it. Harry seemed unfazed in his retelling of the events and Hermione spoke like she was recounting pages from Hogwarts: A History. Why was he the only one who seemed so reluctant to relive everything? "We went to the Chamber to destroy the Horcrux," he informed then, eager to prove if only to himself, that he could do this just like they could. "We stabbed it with a Basilisk fang and it tried to drown us. That's why we were wet."

"And the smoke?"

"We smelled like smoke because Crabbe set the Room of Requirement on fire while we were trying to find the other Horcrux that was hidden there," he continued.

"And after that?" Ginny pressed.

Ron opened up his mouth to speak, but the words quickly fell away. After that, the Death Eaters had gotten in the castle. After that they'd run into Fred and Percy. After that the rest of the night became a blur.

"You know the rest," he replied shortly. "So that's enough, right? That's what we did all year. That's where we were." He got to his feet hastily and Hermione reached for his pant leg.

"Ron." She frowned at him as she spoke his name. The feel of her hand on his calf was strangely comforting and he looked down at her briefly before walking out the door. He wasn't trying to be rude again. He was just done.

She rushed out after him and he could hear her apologise to Harry and Ginny. He was ashamed of the juvenile outburst, so similar to the way he'd stormed from the lunch table the other day, but he didn't want to do it anymore. The past ten months, let alone the past ten days, had been difficult enough to endure the first time. Reliving them on the cold floor of Ginny's room wasn't something he cared to do any further.

"You don't have to retell the whole night." Her gentle words took him by surprise. How did she know? How did she always know? "Just enough to explain our whereabouts."

That was just it, Ron thought, but didn't dare say aloud. His whereabouts in his brother's final hours had been far away from him. Even his thoughts in his brother's final moments hadn't been for his safety, but for Hermione's.

"I don't…" Ron finally began to speak, but he had to take in another deep breath to finish the sentence. "I don't want to talk about the Battle." There. He had said it. "Not today and not tomorrow."

"Okay." Hermione reached out and touched his arm.

"And I don't want to talk about hunting Horcruxes or what it's like to kill one."

"Okay."

"Or – or getting beaten up by Snatchers or breaking into Gringotts or thinking every minute we were going to die. I just - I don't want to talk about it." His voice shook with an emotion that he could tell surprised Hermione immensely.

"Okay," she assured again, rubbing his forearm gently with her thumb.

"Can we just go back upstairs?" His query came out sounding more like a plea.

"So we can sit around and snog for the rest of the afternoon?" He saw her give a playful laugh, but he felt no such smile or laugh coming on.

"We don't have to snog," he admitted. "Just…sit."

"If you want." The words sounded from her lips, but their less than enthusiastic nature wasn't lost on Ron.

"When do you want to leave for Australia?" he asked suddenly.

"For Australia?" she said the word slowly, as if she had forgotten all about their plans to fetch her parents.

"Yeah, I think we should leave Sunday. If my dad has all the Portkeys setup and we get those portpasses from Kingsley."

"Passports," she corrected with a laugh.

"Yeah. Once we get those and the Portkeys are ready, I think we should go."

"You don't want to stay another week here with your family?" Hermione frowned.

"Another week?" Ron snorted in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? I'd leave right now if I could!"

"And miss Fred's funeral?" Hermione's frown grew bigger, but Ron just ignored her.

"Like I said, I'd leave right now if I could."

He began to wonder if the dreams would permanently ruin his love of flying. This time he was flying atop a sleek black Twigger 90. Dean was flying with Kreacher and Mr. Ollivander was flying on an old Silver Arrow with Madame Hooch and of course, Fred and George were looping and diving on their Cleansweeps. They were flying around a Quidditch Pitch that was for some reason in the middle of Muggle London. First Dean pitched to the right and Kreacher went tumbling down to the ground. Ron dipped down to try to save him and then both his brothers had collided on their broomsticks and tumbled to the earth as well. At least that's how he thought it had gone. After only a few minutes, upright and awake in bed, the details of everything in the dream, save for the model broomstick and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness, began to fade.

Ron found he couldn't fall back asleep. His skin was cold and clammy and his throat felt hoarse when he awoke. He wondered if he'd been shouting again and if his parents had heard. He reached for the same old Cannons program from the other night, again leafing through familiar names and statistics. He reached for the homework planner. He reached for his old History of Magic textbook. Anything to distract him from the dream in which he'd lost not only one, but two brothers.

He glanced at the old clock, desperate for it to be morning already, then pulled a loose pair of flannel trousers on over his shorts, grabbed Pettigrew's wand and quietly crept down the stairs. He used to sneak out of bed all the time in the middle of the night to sneak biscuits so he remembered all the noisiest steps to avoid on his way to the kitchen.

He went for his mum's apple crumble first, the one he and Hermione had missed out on last night because they'd been too busy up in his room. There was hardly any left after they'd helped themselves to the remains tonight after dinner, but he carved himself a tiny slice he hoped nobody would notice.

"Ron?" The male voice sounded softly from the stairs. "Is that you?"

"Who is it?" Ron asked defensively.

"It's Harry." His friend suddenly emerged from the staircase. "I thought I heard someone coming down the steps. I thought it was you."

"Couldn't sleep either?" Ron asked hopefully. He knew he should feel badly if his friend wasn't sleeping well, but what was the old Muggle saying his dad used sometimes 'misery loves company'?

"Not really." Harry joined him at the counter.

"Nightmares?" Ron queried as he passed the cake pan to Harry who carved himself a piece of cake larger than the one Ron had cut for himself.

"No, I just can't fall asleep. It's like things are too quiet in my head, you know?" Harry laughed. "I feel like I should be doing something or figuring something out."

"Oh." Ron thought Harry's reason for not sleeping sounded much more sensible than silly dreams about falling off a broomstick.

"You having nightmares?" Harry sat down at the table and took a bite of cake. Ron suddenly recalled the way his best friend had used to thrash in his sleep, the victim of nightmares in which he'd actually been nearly possessed by Voldemort.

"Yeah."

"About what?" he asked casually.

"I don't remember. Just stupid stuff."

"I don't remember you ever having nightmares before." Ron could see Harry frown in the moonlit kitchen.

"That's 'cause I haven't," Ron confessed. "It's…weird. I don't even remember now what they're about, but when I wake up it's like-" Ron hesitated and took in a deep breath, "it's like losing him all over again."

Ron was glad Harry didn't say anything for a while. They just sat there, silently eating their apple cake for a few minutes.

"I had dreams about Sirius," Harry finally spoke.

"Yeah?" Again, Ron felt guilty taking delight in Harry's story of grief, but it was oddly comforting.

"He was alive and then I'd wake up and realise it was a dream and it was…like you said, it was like losing him all over again every time I woke up." His friend's eyes had a faraway look and Ron felt bad for making him think about it.

"Did you ever think about bringing him back somehow?" Ron finally mumbled, recalling the Resurrection Stone whose existence was still buried in the back of his head.

"Sure," Harry admitted. "I even went to Nick to ask if he could come back as a ghost." The revelation that Harry actually had tried to bring his Godfather back comforted Ron tremendously, as did the mere thought of Fred returning as a ghost.

He grinned, first at the thought of Fred as a spectre haunting Hogwarts, and then more widely at the thought of having him back, being able to talk to him, see him every day if only in translucent form.

"Could you imagine what Fred would do as a ghost?"

"He and Peeves would drive old Filch mad," Harry chuckled.

"How do you come back as a ghost?" Ron pressed his friend then, "what did Nick say?"

"He said he was a ghost because he was afraid of death," Harry informed quietly. "That only wizards afraid to die become ghosts."

"Fred wasn't afraid of anything." Ron sighed then, his voice an odd combination of admiration and disappointment. "What about a portrait? Like how we could talk to Dumbledore the other day?"

Harry shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable at Ron's evident desperation. "A portrait's only like an echo of a person. Some portraits don't even remember who they were. Remember the portrait of Mirabella Plunkey on the 1st floor landing? She couldn't even remember who she was married to or anything about her life."

It would still be Fred though, Ron couldn't help but wonder, though he didn't dare say it aloud.

"What about the Stone? You said it worked and they were real, your parents and Sirius and Remus," he continued to press.

"I dropped the Stone in the forest, Ron." Harry now appeared well aware what Ron was trying to do.

"I know, but we could get it," Ron tried to sound hopeful. "We could use it."

Harry was silent and looked to be increasingly uncomfortable, but Ron continued.

"I mean not forever, but just so I could say goodbye. I think if I could just say goodbye …it'd be better." Ron recalled how he had said nothing to the twins when he and Hermione had gone off to the Chamber of Secrets. He hadn't even hugged them when they'd arrived in the Room of Requirement. He didn't have to look at Harry's face to see the sympathy etched on his face.

"You wouldn't ever be able to say goodbye," Harry spoke softly. "I only used the Stone because I thought I was about to die too." Ron was surprised at how composed Harry was as he spoke about walking to his own death. "I thought I was about to join them all."

"But if you were with me when I used it, you could stay with me," Ron suggested. His eyes remained fix on the fork and plate and not at Harry. "You could make sure I only used it for a little while and then – and then - " Ron protested, knowing he was grasping.

"You wouldn't be able to."

"But if you - "

"I wouldn't be able to." The emphasis Harry put on himself surprised Ron. For a time they both said nothing. Ron was grateful Harry hadn't told him what a stupid idea it was or attacked him for his immaturity.

"I yelled at her up in my room," Ron confessed suddenly. "Hermione," he added, as if it needed clarification. "She was just trying to help." He recalled how he'd snapped at her up in his bedroom when she'd tried to get him to go downstairs.

"Did you apologise?" Harry inquired, thankfully saying nothing about his sudden change of subject. Ron said nothing. "They're not that effing hard, you know?" Harry teased, "apologies. That second syllable's a little tough, but - "

"Do you know how many things I'd have to start apologising to Hermione for if I started?" Ron laughed, but as he said the word aloud he no longer felt like eating the rest of his cake. Harry joined in his laughter, but thankfully didn't reply to the comment or say anything further about apologising. "I ought to try to get back to bed." Ron got up and set his plate in the sink. "Try to be somewhat rested for tomorrow with Kingsley."

"I told you, I can talk to him alone. As long as we've worked out what we want to say - "

"I don't mind." The words couldn't have sounded any more like a bald-faced lie coming if he'd tried. He knew Harry was thinking about his outburst in Ginny's room as much as he was.

"Spend the day packing. Get ready for Australia," Harry dismissed. "I can talk to Kingsley alone."

"And Hermione?"

"I honestly think it'd be better if I did it by myself. You know how Hermione is. She'd want to do all the talking and I think it needs to come from me."

"And you won't say anything…about me leaving, will you?" Ron asked uncomfortably.

"I'll use Hermione's story," Harry assured as he also placed his plate in the sink and started toward the staircase. "But she's forgiven you for that, mate, you know that, right?"

"How do you know?" Ron thought about the silly story Hermione had made up about sending him forward as a scout.

"Because she wouldn't be with you if she didn't," Harry stated simply, before disappearing up the stairs.


	13. Chapter 13

There were only two Portkeys left to finalize now. His dad left earlier than usual Wednesday morning to meet with a bloke who knew the Russian ambassador and Percy left just as early, though not before sending Hermes out with three thick rolls of parchment tied to his leg. The two in Russia were appearing to be the most difficult of the seven to secure. Ron didn't understand why they had to go through Russia to get to Australia, but he kept quiet. Both his dad and Percy seemed to be working extremely hard to get all seven set up. Every time Ron asked if he could help with anything, they both just told him all he had to do was wait. He felt like all they did at the Burrow was wait. They waited for confirmation that all the Portkeys had been set up. They waited for their official documentation to arrive. They waited to hear when they were allowed back into Gringotts. They waited around for the next meal. Most of all, they just waited for Thursday to get here.

Ron was grateful his family had pushed the funeral up on the calendar. He didn't think he could take one more day of waiting around like they were. He knew that was the only reason Charlie, Bill and Fleur were still here. They did a good job making themselves scarce, inventing reasons to go for a walk or disappearing for a few hours. Ron wondered if they felt as trapped as he did. The Burrow was beginning to feel like a prison.

Things that had amused him in previous years - Quidditch in the orchard or charming frogs by the pond - all seemed terribly dull now. Even Wizard's Chess no longer held its allure. Ron wasn't sure if it meant he was growing up or was just being randy, wanting to disappear up the stairs with Hermione every minute. Perhaps it was a bit of both. He stayed downstairs after breakfast, which Percy had again made. He'd fried up eggs, tomatoes, and prepared a side of bacon this morning before scurrying off to the Ministry after his father. His brother seemed to be trying very hard to make up for his years of estrangement. Ron wasn't complaining about the breakfasts, or the Portkeys for that matter, but he wondered if his brother knew they'd all forgiven him. He supposed nobody had actually ever said anything outright to him. Maybe that was a trait the Weasleys had in common. They needed to hear things out loud to really believe them.

Ron was still spinning over Hermione's words yesterday in regard to his desertion. He couldn't really understand why she'd chosen to lie for him and why she seemed to have forgiven him when he hadn't even forgiven himself. He reckoned he and Percy had that in common as well.

Ron picked at the leftover bacon as he sat at the kitchen table playing Wizard's Chess with Hermione, Harry, and Ginny. He knew Hermione was well aware this wasn't what he would choose to be doing and she kept a hand on his while he ordered the pieces around. It wasn't that he didn't like Wizard's Chess and it wasn't that he didn't like being with Harry, he just wanted to do something else more. They all took turns having a try at Ron, seeing who could defeat him. Ginny had finally gone to seek out Bill, and he knocked Ron off his throne. His sister looked as triumphant as if she had defeated Ron herself. Ron took solace in the fact that it had taken a professional codebreaker to defeat him and used the defeat as an excuse to retire upstairs.

Now, he lay stretched out on his bed, his shoes kicked off with Hermione sprawled across his chest. There was something lazy and familiar about their actions now, something that Ron thoroughly enjoyed. It had only been four days, but it was no big deal now, retreating behind his bedroom door with Hermione. They hadn't exchanged anything more than a few tender kisses since they'd withdrawn to his room. She was resting at an angle, almost lying on top of him, with her lower body nestled against his leg and her head resting on his chest. She'd been the one who climbed atop him like this when he'd collapsed on the bed and the surprising intimacy of the position almost made up for the general lack of snogging.

"What do we do if we can't get money out of Gringotts?" he inquired, tracing circles on the small of her back with his long fingers.

"I took out all my Building Society savings last year," she murmured against him and walked two fingers across his broad chest. "I suppose that'll have to do."

"And you're going to get maps and stuff, right?"

"Yes, your dad said the Muggle library here is quite good.

"And we'll be able to talk to dad and Percy tonight about where exactly we catch all the Portkeys and what they look like."

"Then we can see about contacting the Ministry in Australia."

"Friday I'll go with you to your house." He went over their agenda for the next few days for the umpteenth time. "We'll get it in order for your parents." She took in a deep breath at his words as if to settle herself at his words. He knew there was a possibility her house wasn't even standing anymore.

"Then we pack."

"Then we leave."

The plan sounded so simple. Ron wondered if they could really accomplish all that in three days time. He knew Hermione was eager to locate her parents and he was eager to leave himself, but he wondered how difficult it all would be. They hadn't really done that much preparation. All she had really done was warn him that they would have to travel in highly populated Muggle areas, which Ron wasn't all that keen on. He always felt exposed in Muggle areas. Even when Hermione made sure he was dressed all right and blended in just fine, he felt like they always knew he was different.

Nonetheless, he couldn't wait to embark on their journey together. As they lay together on his bed, he couldn't help but wonder what their sleeping arrangements would be on the trip. He'd been so reluctant to part from her last night and the long lingering kiss she'd left him outside Ginny's door left little to the imagination. Each time they bid each other goodnight their lips would meet again and again and again until his sister finally groaned through the door to stop.

Ron was loath to return downstairs later this afternoon, though he knew he must. The household was full of anticipation awaiting Kingsley's arrival. His mum had been busy tidying up the kitchen all morning and it was her nervous energy that had kept him and Hermione upstairs. He promised Hermione when they disappeared behind the door hours ago that they would emerge for lunch though and he was displeased to see lunchtime was drawing ever closer. He hoped perhaps she would forget about his promise and stay upstairs, but he could see her eyeing the clock on the table.

"Do you…want to go down and eat?" she proposed innocently. Ron recalled the way he'd snapped at her yesterday when she'd tried to get him downstairs. He hoped the careful way she spoke to him wasn't due to that. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to be fearful of his temper the way they'd both been afraid of Harry's back in fifth year. He shrugged in an effort to be nonchalant, even though every part of him wanted to just stay like this with his hand on her back and her head on his chest. His hand was so close to her bum. He glanced down, wondering how she'd react if one of the circles he traced just happened to graze her backside. Would she slap him upside the head and call him an insensitive wart? "Let's eat something," she proposed before he could even try.

"Yeah, all right." He withdrew his hand abruptly, half afraid she had somehow read his mind. "But we'll come back up later?" He tried not to sound too anxious, even though all he could think about was her hand atop his the other day when he'd dared to touch her breast, the way she'd put her hand on his leg in Ginny's room, and the way she settled against him this morning. He was eager to explore the boundaries of their new physical relationship. He felt like they were finally starting to settle into a rhythm when they were together, finally getting used to kissing each other, really kissing each other, and feeling each other and moving against each other. He wanted to keep exploring. He wanted more. He wanted Hermione.

"If you want." Ron tried not to be discouraged by Hermione's less than enthusiastic reply. That was how she usually replied whenever he asked if she wanted to go upstairs. Hell, that's how she'd replied to just about everything he'd suggested the past five days. He tried not to trouble himself with how very un-Hermione the behavior was. He knew she wasn't the type of girl who just did what people said and he knew perfectly well she had no problem disagreeing with him. Yet, this entire week she'd agreed with almost everything he wanted to do. She peeled herself off his chest and slowly got to her feet. "Ginny was talking about going for a fly while Harry was with Kingsley," she informed. "Want to join her?"

"Or maybe we could go without Ginny." He raised his eyes suggestively and made no effort to get up from the bed, indicating with little subtlety that being alone with her was the only thing he wanted. She just dismissed him with a laugh and grabbed both his hands to help haul him to his feet.

He resisted at first, but then jumped to his feet and allowed his weight to crash into her as she hoisted him up. She staggered backwards several steps, taking him with her and he grabbed her hips in a playful attempt to steady himself. This might be the only time they had alone together until tonight. He was determined to make it last. She laughed at the indiscreet maneuver, especially as his lips suddenly crushed against hers and his hands dropped even lower. She didn't withdraw in the slightest. In fact, she wrapped her own hands around his head, and moved her whole body closer to his when he actually dared to give her bum a squeeze.

It was a completely different kind of closeness to the lazy way they'd just been resting on the bed. She clung to him, to his lips, to his shoulders. Even her hips, God help him, seemed to press against him urgently. He suddenly felt like a tit for trying to be a gentleman for the last hour when her entire body seemed to indicate this was exactly what she'd wanted.

"We have to go downstairs." Hermione's sense of propriety finally won over as she dragged her lips from his and managed to turn her head ninety degree. It seemed all she could manage.

"Forget lunch." He was content to cover the side of her face with wet sloppy kisses.

"We'll come back up later," she assured breathlessly. Ron could only smile at the definite, almost desperate, way she said it as she placed a hand on his chest and stepped backward. It reminded him somehow of those times out in the common room when he convinced her to ditch homework or skip prefect rounds in favor of something else less productive.

He was thoroughly pleased with himself as he sauntered back down the stairs, thinking for some reason of the stupid bet his brothers and half of Hogwarts Castle had made. She wanted him. Not just in an 'I like to kiss you' or a 'snogging you is fun' way, but in an eager and desperate manner that made his head spin. Why had they just wasted the last two hours lying on his bed doing nothing? That kiss clearly showed it was not just him who was eager for more. He knew the secret smiles on both their faces looked entirely too guilty to appear in front of his family. She even halted them both on the second floor to compose themselves.

"We've got to…" She waved her hand in front of her face, like she could magically wipe away the pleased expression and rosy tint to her cheeks from their previous embrace. "We've got to-"

"Get it together?"

"Yes!" she whispered urgently. Ron thoroughly enjoyed how agitated she looked. He liked that she was so anxious and it was because of him and how much she wanted him. "I can't even believe your mother lets me go upstairs with you. We can't come down looking like - "

Then he was kissing her again, forcefully, passionately, uncontrollably, and she wasn't resisting. So this is what people meant when they talked about not being able to keep their hands off each other. He genuinely didn't feel like he could tear himself away from her. He couldn't imagine a time when they wouldn't have to steal away for these greedy, breathless kisses.

"Oh, Ron, we can't!" Hermione wrenched herself away, but there was little force behind the words.

"We can." His voice had a low teasing tone to it as he leaned down to work at her neck.

"We have to…stop." Her voice, on the other hand, sounded shameful and uncertain. She attempted to take a step back from him then and Ron relented only because of the wavering tone of her voice. He knew Hermione Granger prided herself on being polite and proper and doing the right thing. She knew they should be downstairs. Being with his family was the right thing to do. Standing here and stealing kisses was not.

"Okay." He couldn't help but think about Australia then, of the unknown days they would have alone together on the other side of the world. "You all right?" He still couldn't hide his amusement at how flustered she looked and he moved a hand to her waist teasingly. She just swatted it away, ran a hand through her hair and, taking in a deep composing breath, climbed down the stairs.

His mum was, of course, scrubbing the counters, in preparation for Kingsley's arrival. She didn't give the two of them so much as a sideward glance she was so busy working at a spot on the counter. Harry was seated on a stool and looked rather pale. Charlie was trying to wrangle up a trip to Ottery St. Catchpole, but Bill declined on account of Fleur not having 'walking shoes', and Ginny wanted to be here to support Harry. Charlie dropped a heavy hand onto Ron's shoulder then.

"What do you say then, Ron? Fancy a trip into the village with me?"

The opportunity was one Ron would normally jump at. His brother Charlie was so rarely home from Romania that Ron treasured any chance to spend time with him one on one and hear all about dragons and his occasional encounters with vampires in Transylvania. He cast an obvious glance to Hermione, which only made Charlie roar with laughter.

"Come on, loverboy, you can spend a couple hours apart." He muscled Ron into a headlock and all but dragged him out the door.

"But what about lunch?" Ron protested, looking back into the kitchen.

"You hate corned beef anyway," Charlie laughed, his step so light and bouncy it almost looked like he was skipping past the chicken coop.

"I haven't got any Muggle money," Ron stammered again in protest, knowing most of the shops in the village, save one, were Muggle owned and operated.

"I've got some, it's all right," Charlie jingled a bit of change in his pocket and set off down the path towards the main road to the village. Ron struggled to keep up with his brother's brisk pace, even though his long strides were equal to almost two of Charlie's. "I expect you'd better get used to carrying around some Muggle money now, eh?" Charlie raised his eyebrows and looked to Ron.

"Why's that?" Ron huffed. He didn't bother to ask why they didn't just Apparate to the big field outside Ottery St. Catchpole as his family usually did on the rare occasion they journeyed into town. He knew Charlie liked being outside and enjoyed traveling these familiar roads that he so rarely saw.

"Well, you've got a Muggle-born girlfriend now," he looked to his little brother with a twinkle. "She'll be wanting you to take her to the cinema and out to all kinds of posh restaurants."

"Maybe the girls you date, Charlie," Ron laughed, not even bothering to ask what the cinema was, "but not -"

"Oh, yes, even your lovely Hermione," Charlie stated matter-of-factly. "And the sooner you catch on to that, the better."

Ron frowned, finding it hard to imagine Hermione ever behaving like the silly girls Charlie always dated. He wagered Hermione had more sense in her pinky finger than the lot of them together. He grumbled something under his breath as he walked down the two-track lane, he in one track and Charlie in the other.

"She is lovely," Charlie affirmed. The unexpected comment caused Ron's ears to redden slightly. "Turned into quite the attractive witch, really."

Ron grunted again, unsure how to take the compliment. He'd never noticed Hermione turning into anything. She'd always just been Hermione.

"Look, I won't beat around the bush. Dad asked me to talk to you." Ron had more than idea where this conversation was headed and he suddenly wished he were back at the Burrow. He wanted to tell Charlie to belt up, but he seemed to have temporarily lost his voice. "You know dad, poor bloke hasn't got a clue. He sat down with me fourth year and, well, I think we're both still a bit damaged to say the least."

"Charlie - " Ron's voice finally sounded in weak protest. "Honestly, you don't have to - "

"He just wants to make sure you're being smart and, well, that you're being safe - "

"We're not shagging!" Ron replied in mortification. "I don't know why everyone seems to think that!"

"Well, 'cause you're eighteen years old - "

"But we're not, I swear!"

" - you two disappear into your room for hours at a time and we all know you've been in love with her for years." Charlie continued with a laugh, taking note of Ron's thoroughly humiliated expression. Both Ron's eyes were fixed on the dirt path, keeping an eye out for roots and divots in the earth and most definitely not looking over at his brother. "Come off it, you know you have been. I'm not even here and I know it."

"How do you know?" Ron inquired quietly.

"Well, on the rare occasion that you'd write me - no matter how short the letter was - Hermione always managed to be in it. I could just tell…the way you talked about her and how - "

"No, not how did you know - I mean how does a person - how are you supposed to know when you're, well, you know…"

"You're asking the wrong person there," Charlie laughed, "unless you want to hear what it's like to fall in love with a Ukrainian Ironbelly, I think you best save that for our dear brother, William." Ron didn't look too pleased with Charlie's answer and kicked at a rock in the lane. "Even he wouldn't have an answer, Ron," Charlie sighed. "I'm sorry and I know it sounds trite, but you just know when you know."

"That doesn't help at all," Ron grumbled.

"Don't think about it too hard," Charlie laughed. "That was never your strong suit."

"Hey!" Ron jerked his head up and punched his brother hard in the arm at the remark.

"I just mean you're not a look before you leap guy." Charlie returned the punch. "Come on, you never have been, and you're the first to admit it."

"But shouldn't I look?" Ron looked to his brother hesitantly. "I mean…I could make a right mess of things, let's face it."

"You'll be all right." Charlie gave his brother an encouraging nod and then smiled. "You made it this far, right?"

They talked dragons for much of the walk into the village. Ron heard a bit more than he cared to about the mating habits and courting rituals of Romanian Longhorns, but the tale of the Hebridean Black that had bitten off half its own tail was a story Ron knew he'd be telling for years. Charlie seemed to enjoy the conversation as much as the walk and by the time they arrived at the village Ron half expected him to just keep walking. He didn't seem to have much of a destination in mind as his eyes scanned the quaint shops and sidestreets of Ottery St. Catchpole.

Ron rarely came into the village. All he knew was the location of the sweet shop and the sole wizard run establishment, which was in the alley to the left of the old grey church at the center of the village. The witch who owned the shop advertised herself as a seamstress, which none of the Muggles seemed to need, but she was in fact an apothecary whose backroom shelves were full of an assortment of powders, herbs, roots, and dragon scales.

"Where should we go then?" Ron looked around the village uncomfortably, hardly imagining they'd walked all this way for a trip to the apothecary.

"You know, I think the last time you and I were here together I bought you an ice lolly. It melted and you cried all the way home." Ron scowled at the memory, which his brother seemed to find much too amusing. "How about an ale?" Charlie pointed to a dilapidated building designated as the River Otter Pub. "It'd be a far cry from ice lollies, eh?"

Ron agreed hesitantly and followed him across the street and into the small pub. He had to adjust his eyes as he walked through the door as it was dimly lit and a stark contrast to the bright sunlight outside. It smelled a bit too much like Mundungus Fletcher for Ron's liking and the clientele reminded him very much of that at the Hog's Head, but Charlie seemed pleased at his selection.

"Don't think they'll have any of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, but I'd wager you can get a good enough pint here," he whispered out the corner of his mouth, plopping down on a bar stool. Ron joined his brother, his eyes taking in the foreign sights of the bar. There were posters on the walls similar to the ones Dean Thomas had put up in their Hogwarts dormitory and a television set was fixed to the wall. Harry and Hermione had described the Muggle invention to him before, but he'd only ever seen them before when passing through London and then it had been briefly and never at such a close distance. He watched the barman push a button on the black box and the noise coming from the box increased tremendously. He wondered if it could pause, rewind, and zoom in and out like a pair of Omnoculars.

"Who you pullin' for?" the barman noted Ron's keen interest in the television.

"Oh – erm – I, uh - " Ron panicked. The only Muggle team of any kind he knew was West Ham and that was just because he had to listen to Dean prattle on about them for six years.

"More of a rugby league fan, this one," Charlie intervened coolly and clapped Ron on the back. Ron wondered how his brother always knew what to do and what to say.

The barman eyed the two of them curiously, as if to take measure of whether or not he'd seen them around before. He was a lanky man, built quite a bit like Ron, with dark curly hair and thick bushy eyebrows. He appeared to readily accept Charlie's story and promptly placed two dimpled glass jugs full of dark amber liquid in front of them. Ron fidgeted uncomfortably, but Charlie seemed at ease. Charlie was confident in any situation.

He lifted his glass into the air as if in silent toast to Ron before taking a deep drink. Ron hesitated slightly. He'd never tasted plain old Muggle beer before. He knew it couldn't be much different from what they drank in the wizarding world, but he felt strangely uneasy. It was almost like when he'd sampled all the grape leaves and mashed up fava beans when his family had gone to Egypt. He'd been afraid at twelve years old that by eating them he would suddenly start to become like an Egyptian. He stupidly felt like drinking the Muggle ale would somehow make him lose his magical abilities and be more like a Muggle. Nonetheless, he raised the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip. The ale was surprisingly bitter and Ron couldn't help but pucker slightly, no matter how much he tried not to.

"Haven't gone out drinking much, have you?" Charlie chuckled.

"Not unless you count a bit of elderberry wine and some mulled mead," Ron admitted sheepishly. "They don't really set it out for dinner at Hogwarts."

"Well, here's to you then," Charlie raised his glass again. "And to Hermione," he added with a twinkle.

"Don't you start that again," Ron hid his face behind the full glass of ale and took a long sip, grimacing less this time as the liquid passed over his tongue.

"You know how pleased mum and dad are, right?"

"Hardly," Ron scoffed. "Mum won't even let us alone."

"Oh yeah? And where exactly were you and Hermione all morning?" Charlie countered with an inquiring raise of his eyebrows. Ron squirmed on the barstool and looked down into his dimpled glass. "I'd say she's been quite liberal the past few days, letting you two go off whenever you want."

"She makes Hermione uncomfortable."

"Oh, she'll get over it."

"Who? Hermione or Mum?"

"Both," Charlie replied simply. "You have to think, Ron, Hermione's practically been part of the family for years, living under mum and dad's roof, practically like a daughter… now she's off snogging you every chance she gets. It's a bit odd for her I'd imagine and for mum and dad as well."

"I suppose," Ron muttered. "Still, mum doesn't need to give her such a hard time. We're not doing anything wrong." He slurped angrily from his mug and all but slammed it onto the wooden bar.

"Oh please. You know why mum's acting this way, right?" Ron's vacant expression told Charlie he didn't have the faintest notion why his mother seemed to be treating the girl who had been his best friend for seven years like a completely different person. "You're telling me you haven't reasoned it out?"

"No."

For the first time all afternoon Charlie looked a bit uncomfortable and he fidgeted with the paper napkin on the countertop for a moment.

"She doesn't want to lose another son," he spoke softly. "That's all."

"Lose me?" Ron spluttered. "That's mad. I'm not leaving."

"Aren't you?" Charlie challenged with raised eyebrows. "Haven't you already?"

"Yes, but - "

"I know it's different, just…." Charlie licked his lips thoughtfully as his voice tailed away. "It's hard enough for mum to admit that you're not her little boy anymore. Y'know, the stuff you've done…it's hard for her to accept. It's hard for all of us to accept," Charlie admitted. "Little Ron being assigned a secret mission, taking on the darkest wizard of all time." Ron knew his brother was referring to page three in the Daily Prophet and for some reason it only made him more uncomfortable. "And then Hermione - you've got to know mum loves Hermione. She always has. If you saw the letters she sent me…I think she always in her heart hoped it would turn out this way. She just wasn't quite ready for it when it did. It's hard to imagine ickle Ronnie in love."

"Would you quit with the ickle Ronnie business?" Ron did not look amused at his brother's constant need to remind Ron he was younger than him. He took a long drink as if to remind his brother he was of age.

"Oh, you know that's how mum will always think of you. She loves you and she loves Hermione. She's just…scared she'll take you away from her."

"But she's my mum! No one could ever take her away."

"But you will move away. You'll get married one day, start a family of your own," Charlie stated and Ron just fidgeted uncomfortably at the matter-of-fact way he said the words. "To mum that all starts here. One day you're sneaking up the stairs to have a snog the next…you're walking down the aisle."

"Bloody hell, Charlie, don't marry me off already!" Ron laughed at the absurd statement.

"I know it sounds mental, but just realize that's how mum sees things."

"I bloody well hope that's not how Hermione sees things!" Ron managed a laugh. "Walking down the aisle," he snorted to himself and threw back what was left of the Muggle ale in a particularly long gulp.

"It looks like you're already ready for another." Charlie thumped Ron on the back, appearing quite impressed at how quickly his brother had put away the drink, and jovially ordered another round.

Ron felt the world slowly slipping away the more he drank. He puckered less when the bitter liquid touched his lips and began to drink it in larger and greedier gulps. He realised, somewhere around his third jug of dark amber ale and his second glass of whatever else it was Charlie placed in front of him, that Charlie was the first person he'd talked to – really talked to - outside of Harry and Hermione for months. It was an odd thing to become aware of and he found his words came looser and more freely than they had in a long time. He was telling Charlie all about his time at Hogwarts, everything from Quidditch to Potions class. Mostly though, the more ale he drank the more he talked about Hermione. He told Charlie all about Lavender Brown and about his mistakes last year. He talked about the canaries Hermione had sent after him and his pitiful attempt to show his feelings fifth year with a bottle of perfume.

"I thought it smelled nice. A bit like the laundry right after mum's folded it." Ron got a dreamy expression on his face.

"You got Hermione perfume that smelled like laundry?" Charlie laughed.

"I like the smell of the laundry!" Ron replied defensively. He paused a moment and the dreamy expression returned to his face. "Not as much as I like the smell of Hermione though," he remarked fondly. "She's's like…like a vanilla ice cream cone…."

"Merlin, you're pissed," Charlie remarked with a laugh.

"And flowers," Ron added.

"Ice cream and flowers, eh?"

"Yeah, like Professor Orchid's Eternal Sprouts," he slurred.

"You mean Professor Sprout's Eternal Orchids?"

"That's what I said." Charlie snorted at Ron's ramblings and pulled a handful of money out of his wallet to leave on the bar. "That's what we are, you know?. Eternal. Me and Hermione."

"You're completely legless," Charlie laughed again at his brother and rose to his feet slowly. "Mum'll have my head for this."

"Why?" Ron got to his feet and, rather wobbly, followed Charlie toward the door. "I'm eighteen! I can get pissed if I like!" he thumped his chest. "I can snog my girl if I like!" he slurred the words slightly, "I can go to Australia if I like!"

"Right you are," Charlie looked to his little brother in amusement as the two slowly made their way back outside. "You can take full responsibility for this one then."

"I've destroyed effing Horcruxes!" Ron continued and he puffed his chest out triumphantly.

"Destroyed what now?" Charlie screwed up his face.

"Broken into Gringotts! Battled You-Know-Who! Killed Greyback!" Ron rattled on boisterously, oblivious to the fact that many Muggles in the street were looking to him and his drunken rambling a bit oddly.

"Shhhhhhh," Charlie scolded, quieting him down. His eyebrows sloped into a frown at the last revelation however. "That was you that offed Greyback?

"Yeah, it was me," Ron raised his shoulders a bit taller. "What? Didn't think ickle Ronnie had it in him? I'd do it again." He thrust his chest out. "Right now! Anythin' threaten Hermione like that - "

"Oi!" Charlie slapped his forehead. "I haven't told you about the charms."

"What charms?"

"The charms to make sure we don't end up with lots of little Weasleys running around by accident."

"We're noooooooot shagging!" Ron all but shouted as he drew out the words long and slow, the effects of the alcohol now more evident than ever. "Charlie, she doesn't even take her fucking shoes off!"

"Well, good," Charlie appeared pleased to hear the report. "That's good." He eyed Ron warily, seeming to detect a slight frustration in his last confession. "Don't you go pushing her either."

"Says the man who's probably gotten in the knickers of every witch in Romania," Ron scoffed.

"That's a bit low, don't you think?"

"True, innit?" Ron laughed and gave a careless shrug as he continued sauntering down the road.

The return walk to the Burrow was not nearly as talkative as the walk there had been. There were no tales about dragon tails and no further ribbing of Ron and his romantic pursuits. Ron would whirl around every now and then and deliver a lovesick declaration about how long he'd fancied Hermione or another boisterous reminder that he'd smashed in Fenrir Greyback's head, but then he'd turn back around and continue marching onward. Only when they reached the two-track road that led to the Burrow did his gait slow considerably.

"I don't wanna go back," he announced when the outline of their ramshackle house came into view. Smoke was rising from two of the five chimneys and Ron imagined his family all gathered around the main fireplace, looking over photo albums and deciding what picture of Fred to turn into the Prophet. He had no inclination to return to the house where his brother's absence haunted every nook and cranny. He wanted to leave for Australia.

"But your Hermione's there," Charlie teased playfully, but Ron's feet were planted firmly in the earth. As much as he liked how Charlie had referred to Hermione as 'his Hermione' he would not move forward. He shook his head and looked at Charlie through bleary eyes.

"No, tell Her-my-knee, tell her to come here."

"Why don't you come on and tell her yourself," Charlie tried to lure, but Ron shook his head firmly.

"No, go get her – tell her to come here and we can leave! We can go right now for Australia."

"You can't leave for Australia yet, Ron," Charlie explained kindly to his inebriated brother. "You've got to say goodbye to Fred tomorrow."

"Say goodbye?" Ron snorted. "Say goodbye?" He threw back his head suddenly, staring up at the darkening sky. "Bye bye, Fred!" he waved to the sky and to the trees and to the rabbit that had just popped its head out from behind a log. "Bye bye!" he continued to wave wildly. "Say goodbye," he spat, the contempt in his voice was obvious. "Bit late for that, eh?"

He pulled out his wand then and for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain he slowly aimed it at the rabbit. His bleary eyes tried to focus on the frightened creature.

"What are you doing?" Charlie's voice suddenly grew serious. He stepped toward Ron, but Ron was too quick and blue sparks flew towards the rabbit before he could even react. After an afternoon of drinking he was fortunately not as accurate as he was fast and the blast hit a tree and sent bark and wood chips flying through the air at them. Charlie ducked to avoid them, but Ron hardly flinched. "What the hell did you do that for?" Charlie wrenched the wand away from his brother and gave him a hard shove.

"Hare today, gone tomorrow," Ron sniggered at his own joke.

"What's wrong with you?"

"That's life, get it? Hare today, gone tomorrow?"

"We were having a good time." Charlie looked to his brother suddenly as if he were a stranger.

"What? Getting pissed? Telling stories?" Ron scoffed, his voice growing increasingly louder. "Acting like he's not dead?" he thundered and the words echoed down the country lane. It was the first time he'd said it, the word dead, and it felt good for some reason to shout it. "Forgetting all about him?"

"No one's forgetting, Ron, we're just…getting by."

"Yeah, you're really having a time with it," Ron accused. "You'll get by just fine."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Charlie challenged. The friendly air that had been present all afternoon quickly vanished.

"It means you'll put in your time at home and then bugger off back to Romania with your bloody dragons."

"That's not fair!"

"Bill was here! Bill left Egypt to come help, but you – you - "

"I was working in the Order - "

"You don't care!"

"Ron - "

"You don't care at all - "

"That's enough - "

"You'll go back and shag half of Europe before you even think about him!"

"Enough." There was a definite edge to Charlie's voice now.

"You're not even going to miss him!"

"I said, that's enough!" Charlie seized him suddenly by the shirt collar. Ron laughed at the action. He wasn't ickle Ronniekins who could be bullied around anymore. He dwarfed his brother by over a foot now. He threw his arms up forcefully and shoved Charlie back several feet.

"You're not even here enough to miss him!" he launched another barb Charlie's way.

He could taste the blood that immediately started to pool in his mouth before he could even realize that his brother had struck him. He raised his hand to his mouth in disbelief.

"You hit me." His voice sounded numbly.

"You're not the only one who lost a brother," Charlie pointed at him, still seething and his hands still balled into fists.

"You hit me," Ron repeated, his numbness quickly giving way to anger.

"You asked for it."

"Oh, I asked for it?" Ron growled. "Ask for this, then!" he flew at Charlie, wrestling his brother's short and stocky frame to the ground. It was a clear mismatch. Ron was tall and his lanky frame had muscled up over the years, but he was no match for the man who climbed mountains and handled dragons on a daily basis.

"You really want to do this?" Charlie muttered through clinched teeth as they scuffled about in the mud. Ron swung wildly at his brother, who was easily able to evade most of his drunken jabs. "Why are you doing this, Ron?" Charlie inquired breathlessly, muscling him away. Each time he threw him off Ron just came diving back with fists flying. It was like he needed to hit something, anything, the rabbit, the tree, his brother, whatever was there. "Enough!" Charlie finally managed to reach for his own wand and throw up a shield charm. "Just because you're hurting doesn't give you the right to act this way! Grow up!"

"Says the man who ran away to chase dragons and skirts!" Ron shot back, touching his hand again to his bleeding lip.

"Come inside, Ron," Charlie spoke coolly, ignoring the gibe and reaching for his him one last time.

"No!" Ron shoved him away harshly.

"Come inside."

"No, I won't! I'm leavin' for Australia," Ron shouted defiantly, but he was speaking to Charlie's shadow. His brother had turned sharply on his heel and was marching off to the Burrow, leaving Ron standing in the path, bloodied, wandless


	14. Chapter 14

Ron lowered his body onto the fallen log the hare had hidden behind and dropped his head to his hands wearily. In the short time he'd fought with his brother the afternoon had seemed to turn into evening. There were no more tall shadows. The moon was just starting to creep up and everything had a misty kind of glow as night slowly descended. He didn't know why he'd had a go at Charlie. All he knew was the anger felt good and it felt easy.

"Ron!" Hermione's voice was thick with worry as it sounded from outside the Burrow. He heard the door slam shut behind her. She sounded upset, panicked almost, as her footsteps drew closer. He'd heard her sound like that once before as she chased him through the rain and the memory only made him feel worse. "Ron!" she shouted again. He could now see she was sprinting barefoot up the two lane road. She arrived out of breath and doubled over, her hands resting on her knees.

"You came." Ron dared give her a smile. He looked down at her toes, wondering what Charlie could possibly have said to cause her to come running out in the chilly evening air without even bothering to put shoes on her feet. She gasped as she saw his bloody lip and mud-splattered clothes. "I told him to get you and you came."

"Ron, what happened?" she asked breathlessly, her voice thick with concern. "Charlie came in and - said you two had a row and – and you wouldn't come inside and - that he had to take your wand!" Each phrase was punctuated with a breath as she sucked in the air.

"S'nothing," Ron dismissed casually. He stood up from the log and grabbed her hand. "C'mon, let's go."

"Go? Go where?" Hermione actually managed a laugh at the absurdity of his statement.

"Awe-stray-lee." His eyes lit up as he looked down the path. "Let's go! We'll go. We'll find your parents. I like your parents. Let's go now."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and studied his face carefully.

"Have you…have you been drinking?"

"I got a bit loaded at the pub, yeah." He tried to dismiss nonchalantly, as if it were an everyday occurrence.

"Were you there the entire afternoon?" She wrinkled her nose at the prospect. Nearly five hours had passed since Charlie had dragged him out of the Burrow to Ottery Saint Catchpole.

"Yeah, mostly," Ron affirmed with a nod of the head. He was grateful Hermione chose to spare him a lecture about the dangers of inebriating substances. "I had some chips. Charlie had some prawns."

"Prawns?"

"Yeah, in a sandwich. With mayonnaise. It was quite good," he stated matter-of-factly. "Come on, let's go!" He seized her hand and turned down the road again, attempting to drag her with him.

"We can't go!" Hermione planted her bare feet in the earth.

"Why not?"

"Well, first because the Portkeys haven't been set up - "

"We don't need the sodding Portkeys! Let's go. Let's leave now." He spoke in a manner that indicated he was quite serious about departing right then.

"But the funeral, Ron."

"Let's go!"

"We have to stay for - "

"Let's just go!" His voice shook with emotion in a way that seemed to catch Hermione off guard. "I don't want…I can't…" His chin was trembling as he spoke the words and she studied his face carefully. His bloodied lip had already swelled up beyond its normal size and blood pooled at the corner of his mouth so quickly he had to lick his lips constantly to keep it from dribbling down his chin.

"Come here," she beckoned him toward her and raised a hand to his face gingerly. "Open your mouth." He obeyed the tender command and watched patiently as Hermione did a Lumos charm and peered inside his mouth to look for the source of the blood.

"Ithine." Ron tried to assure her he was fine as her fingers held his mouth open delicately and searched.

"No, you've cut yourself," she spoke to him in a kind and patient tone. She touched the inside of his cheek with her fingers, carefully trying to locate the cut.

"Ithine," he attempted to say again, his tongue brushing against her fingers as he spoke.

"You're bleeding, Ron," she maintained and when she removed her fingers he could indeed see they were covered with shockingly bright red blood. He must have bit the inside of his cheek when Charlie had punched him. For some reason he did not want to tell her about the fact that he had gotten into a fistfight with his elder brother, though he knew the evidence was quite obvious.

"I'm fine." He was finally able to speak clearly now that her fingers were out of his mouth. "Been through worse, right?" he managed a weak smile.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" she asked quietly, holding his face in her hands the way his mother might as she looked him over. He shrugged, looking very much like he could care less if he'd been bleeding profusely from the head. "Let's get you cleaned up," she tried to take his hand then, but the tender moment quickly vanished and the anger bubbled up inside him again. He jerked his hand away from her and took a step backwards away from the Burrow. "Come on, please," she tried to take his hand again, clearly unsure of how to handle his inebriated and belligerent state.

"I don't want to."

"Your parents are worried about you. Your brothers are worried about you. I'm worried about you," she added, pressing her hands to her chest. "Just come inside, please."

"I. Don't. Want. To," he enunciated each syllable. "Can't you listen?"

"Ron, please." Hermione tried to pretend as if his combative words hadn't hurt, but Ron saw her flinch slightly.

"I'm not coming inside," he stated firmly.

"Well, what are you going to do sleep outside, then?" She managed a laugh.

"I told you, I'm going to Awe-Stray-Lee."

"Oh, you're going to go fetch my parents without me?" she laughed and Ron nodded his head vigorously. "And without a wand?" Again, he nodded his head in reply. "Just come inside," Hermione sighed wearily. "Please. My feet are cold." She motioned down to her bare feet.

"Come with me," he spoke urgently, his tone changing abruptly again as he reached for her hands.

"I will come with you, but right now you need to come inside."

"Don't tell me what I need to do!" he shouted, wildly resorting back to anger. Hermione looked floored at how quickly he had changed yet again. "You don't know! You can't read about any of this in a bloody book!"

"I know you're angry," Hermione tried to keep calm. "It's okay to be angry."

"Oh, would you just shut up?" he scowled and he saw her flinch again.

"It's natural in situations like - "

"Stop it! For once in your life, Hermione, just stop it!"

"Ron - "

"You don't know everything!"

"It's completely normal to be angry. What you're going through - it's called the Kubler-Ross - "

"I'm not a fucking book!" Ron cut her off and he practically screamed the words. Saliva flew through the air and landed on Hermione, who winced at both the action and the angry declaration. He felt like he was literally spinning out of control. A wave of nausea washed over him. His tongue felt big and his throat suddenly felt like it was clogged.

"I know," she spoke meekly after a long pause.

"Then just…" He raised his hand to his mouth and tried to suck in a deep breath through his nose. "Just…"

And then he was retching into the leaves. He didn't even have time to turn away from Hermione and he couldn't even tell if she had blanched or was disgusted or had turned away. He couldn't do anything but gag and retch as everything he'd ingested that day, which at this point was fortunately mostly liquid, come up again.

He braced his hands on his knees, waiting for a third wave. His throat burned and his eyes were watering and he was hard pressed to think of a time he'd felt any more wretched. He knew he must look pitiful with his bloodied lip, muddy clothes and now a dribble of saliva hanging from his chin . He expected she would leave like Charlie had. He waited to hear her bare footsteps padding back to the Burrow at any moment.

He licked his dry lips, trying to rid his mouth of the awfully bitter and sour taste that remained, not daring to raise his eyes to face her. Keeping his head down, staring at the bare earth, he took in a deep steadying breath and waited for her to leave.

Instead, he watched her reach down and pick up a rock about the size of her hand. Before he could ask what she was doing, he watched the stone turn into a goblet. She'd always been brilliant at Transfiguration.

"Aguamenti." Water streamed from the end of her wand into the goblet, which she handed to him.

Ron was reluctant to take it from her, only because he reckoned he didn't deserve it. She held it in front of him and slowly he straightened up and took it from her, though he still couldn't meet her eye.

"Take it, you'll feel better." She forced it into his hands and watched as he took a long drink. Ron couldn't help but think water had never tasted so good. His chin trembled slightly as he pulled the goblet away. In fact, he saw his hand was trembling too, like the goblet was somehow too heavy. His whole body felt weak and he slowly lowered himself onto the log. He waited again for her to leave him, but she sat down and joined him.

"We should…go inside," he mumbled and motioned towards the Burrow. The words were so low and inaudible they almost seemed to get trapped in his throat.

"We can stay out here if you want," she offered. "It's okay."

"No, you're probably freezing." He glanced down at her pale toes against the earth, but he made no effort to move. It was like his shame kept him weighted down. He felt suddenly guilty about everything. Not just for being a terrible boyfriend and yelling at Hermione, or being a terrible brother and attacking Charlie, but for everything.

There was a sudden stinging in his nose and a large lump in his throat that suddenly made it difficult to swallow. For a moment he was afraid he was going to start retching gain, but then he felt the moistness in his eyes. He figured he could blame the alcohol if tears started falling the same way he could blame the puddle of sick to his right on the alcohol, but he didn't even know why he wanted to cry. God, he was fucked up. One moment he was throwing punches at his brother, the next he was screaming at Hermione for absolutely nothing, and now he was sitting on a log about to burst into tears and he didn't even know why. He clinched his teeth together so tightly he feared he might grind them down. He would not let himself come undone beside her. Not when he didn't even know what he was crying about. He wiped his eyes, his face set in fierce determination. He would not cry. He said the words over and over in his head like a mantra while steeling his face. He would not cry.

He didn't know how long they sat in silence. She didn't touch him or even look at him. He knew he should apologise, but he didn't trust himself to open his mouth for fear he might retch again. He hardly trusted himself to get back to the Burrow. She was waiting for him to move first though and he knew it. She was probably afraid he'd yell at her again or maybe afraid she'd end up covered in sick. His stomach still felt uneasy and he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't vomit. It was the desire for sleep more than anything else that willed him to stand finally. Sleep it off, isn't that what he'd sometimes heard his mum say to Sirius when he'd gotten increasingly belligerent after a night of drinking? Sleep would make everything better.

The Weasley clan tried not to stare too hard as he and Hermione walked through the door, but it was evident the entire family had all been waiting around for him. Harry and Ginny were seated together on the steps, looks of concern on both their faces, and Percy sat behind them, looking quite morose. Bill and Fleur were meanwhile huddled in the kitchen with his parents while Charlie paced in front of the bookshelves, a large purple welt above his right eye where Ron's fist had made contact. Ron saw Pettigrew's wand was still clutched in his hand. Only George was missing, of course.

Their eyes were all glued to the pair. They weren't holding hands as they had been nearly every time they'd been together the past few days, but Ron shadowed Hermione so closely they almost looked like as if they were physically connected somewhere at the torso.

He knew he still had a trace of blood on his chin and his fat lip bulged out quite noticeably. He heard his entire family gasp as his face became visible in the sitting room. He wondered what the rest of him looked like. He felt suddenly exhausted, worn down like he'd just been through the Battle of Hogwarts all over again. The emotions that had coursed through him out on the dirt path, the anger and the sadness he'd kept bottled up for so long, had somehow drained him of any energy. Or perhaps it was the ale and the fact that his stomach muscles had just gotten quite a workout that suddenly seemed to sap him of all strength .

"Ron?" His mum creaked as she watched him shuffle wordlessly through the door. His eyes hardly acknowledged anyone in the room as he stumbled over to the sofa. His mum looked immediately to Hermione for an answer. "What happened?"

"He's just upset is all," Hermione tried to dismiss quietly. Ron saw Charlie fidget a bit at the words. Considering the magnitude of his outburst out on the road, Hermione saying he was just upset sounded like a lie, but he was grateful she didn't share with anyone the things he'd said to her. He wondered if Charlie had told them all about their brief scuffle. It must be quite obvious from the state of both their faces.

"You want anything to eat, Ron?" his father inquired innocently, clearly unsure what to say in the situation. "Your mum made Bangers." Ron didn't respond. He just plopped down onto the sofa and continued to gaze out into the room with the same glassy stare.

"I don't think he's very hungry," Hermione declined on his behalf.

"You want to go upstairs, Ronnie?" his mum looked to him worriedly, now speaking to him like a child. When still there was no response and Ron's catatonic state remained, the panic seemed to set in. "What's wrong with him, Hermione?"

"He's just…upset," she dismissed again uncomfortably. Ron was grateful for her evasiveness. He wasn't sure how much Charlie had revealed, but he didn't care for anyone in his family to know how he had gotten pissed, attacked Charlie, yelled at Hermione, and then to top it all off, gotten sick and almost started crying.

"What's happened to him? He looks more than upset. Why he looks -" His mum seemed to look right past his bloodied lip and the blood in the corner of his mouth. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and looked closer at Ron's unfocused gaze. "He looks drunk!" The pack of Weasleys quickly began to disperse at the words. Percy, Ginny and Harry turned to scurry up the stairs and even Bill and Fleur began to make for the stairs. His mum caught Charlie before he could retreat up the staircase however, her glare saying more than any words could.

"I didn't know he couldn't handle it!" Charlie blurted out. "He seemed fine when we were at the pub!"

"You took him to a pub?" His mum glowered at Charlie and then looked pitiably back to Ron, whose eyes were starting to close. "After all he's been through? Obviously, he's in no state to be drinking, Charlie," she scolded. "I'd think you'd be able to notice that in your own brother."

"Probably not the greatest idea," Bill muttered to his brother as he walked by.

"Right, like none of you have noticed he hides out all day with Hermione?" Charlie managed a laugh and glared at Bill. Hermione looked at the floorboards, appearing embarrassed at the blunt words. "I thought it'd do him a bit of good to go out and loosen up a bit," he replied honestly. "He's all wound up!"

"And you thought an afternoon of drinking would help?"

"I figured it couldn't hurt, yeah!" Charlie replied honestly with a shrug.

Ron made no indication that he was at all bothered by the conversation taking place about him. He remained on the sofa, sinking lower and lower into it as the cushions absorbed his weight.

"Well, I hope you're happy. Just look at him!" His mum huffed as she pulled out the kettle and began to prepare some tea. Charlie looked as if there were a million things he wanted to say, his being happy not among them, but he was silent. He simply slunk up the stairs, leaving Hermione and his parents alone in the kitchen. Hermione stood halfway between the sofa where Ron lay and the kitchen, appearing quite unsure of whether she should retreat upstairs like everybody else or stay down here. "I'm making you a spot of tea, Ron," his mum announced and began busying herself around the kitchen. She glanced over to Hermione then and nodded, "and for you as well, Hermione."

Ron stirred slightly at his mum's words and opened his eyes. He was quite confident his mum's offer to make tea for her was the first overtly kind overture she'd made to Hermione since inviting her to the Burrow back in the Great Hall. She hadn't been rude to her. Certainly, she'd treated her better than she had Fleur last year. She just hadn't treated her like Hermione. He wanted to tell his mum she'd been wrong to treat her any differently. Hermione hadn't deserved any of it. She'd run after him tonight with her shoes off. She hadn't smacked him in the face when he'd shouted at her. She'd lied to Ginny for him. She was the kindest and most generous person he knew. She was incredible.

"Er-my-knee," Ron murmured as he sunk even deeper into the sofa. His heavy eyelids began drooping down over his eyes.

"Sounds like he's calling for you, dear." Ron heard his mum speak suddenly. Her voice sounded softer somehow, different than it had any other time this week when she'd spoken to Hermione.

"I – I - " He heard Hermione stammer nervously.

"Go on." His mum's encouraging voice, though no more than a whisper, silenced her stammering.

Ron could hear Hermione's tentative steps. He could feel the cushion beside him sink slightly as she joined him. He opened his eyes slightly, gazing through the narrow slits to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him and that his mum had not simply tolerated, but encouraged Hermione to join him. She sat beside him, her hands folded nervously in her lap and clutching a small wet washcloth he knew was meant for him. She looked as if she desperately wanted to tend to him, but he knew her modesty kept her from touching him in front of his mother. Ron wondered if she was thinking about the last time they'd embraced that afternoon and the way they'd hardly been able to drag themselves away from each other. He turned to her, his lips curling into a smile at the memory, but she edged away nervously. The result was Ron collapsing yet deeper into the cushions.

"Looks as if he'll be spending the night there," his mum remarked with a loud sigh. "Wouldn't be the first time someone's done that." She looked to her husband then, who just grinned sheepishly, looked to the two on the sofa, and departed up the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley brought over a tray with both cups of tea then and set them on the table beside the sofa. She looked on the pair just as her husband had, appearing quite unsure what to do next.

"If - if you don't mind." Hermione's voice shook with uncertainty as her eyes flicked nervously back and forth between Ron and his mum. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Weasley, please." She had to clear her throat a moment. "I'd like to stay with him."

The request was simple enough. Could she stay and look after Ron in his inebriated state? Could she stay and clean the blood off his face and make sure he didn't get sick all over the sofa cushions? Could she make sure he slept through the night? Still, after days of accusing looks at even the briefest of touches between them and the messy argument the other day at lunch, Ron knew it was a tremendous thing to ask his mum and taken more than a bit of Gryffindor courage.

Ron waited to hear her tell Hermione that spending the night with him, no matter what the circumstance, was entirely inappropriate. She'd kept Bill and Fleur in separate rooms when they were engaged to be married, after all. Surely, allowing two eighteen year olds to pass the night on the sofa together was out of the question. Yet her face softened as she looked to Hermione.

Ron vaguely remembered his conversation with Charlie earlier that afternoon, about how his mum loved Hermione, but was afraid she'd take him away. He wished he could tell her what he'd told Charlie in the pub. He wished he trusted himself enough to be able tell her she was his mum and she'd never be replaced, but that it was Hermione he needed right now. His mum seemed to be having the same inner dialogue in her head because it seemed to take forever for her to reply.

Ron knew it was because her answer was about more than just granting Hermione permission to pass the night on the sofa with him. She was admitting that she wasn't the person who took care of him anymore. She was still his mum, but she didn't clean his cuts or bruises and she wasn't the person he wanted to go to after a bad dream. Ron gazed at Hermione from beneath his partially closed eyes as his mother stood there, precariously weighing her response.

"Yes." Her gentle reply finally sounded. There was a hint of defeat to it, but also a respect and recognition that had been lacking the past several days. Ron even saw the faintest makings of a smile. "Yes, dear. I think that would be fine. I'll get you a blanket."

Ron heard Hermione heave a shaky sigh of relief as soon as his mum disappeared up the stairs. She raised her hand to delicately brush the hair off Ron's forehead and begin tending to his swollen lip. He stirred only slightly at her touch before his mum returned moments later.

"You'll let us know if you need anything?" She placed a colorful hand-woven blanket on the arm of the sofa. She looked as if she were about to say something more then, unable to ignore the look on Hermione's face as she brought the washcloth up to tenderly clean the blood and dirt from his face. She swallowed whatever words were rising in her throat however and turned slowly to retreat up the stairs. She halted again before climbing them and when she spoke Ron was surprised to hear how close she sounded to tears. "Hermione, I - I want you to know I'm - "

But Hermione spoke before she could finish.

"It's all right."

"No, I - I - " His mum began to speak again and this time Ron turned his head to look at her. He got the feeling there were numerous things she wanted to say to Hermione, but instead she just offered a smile, gave an understanding nod of the head and disappeared up the stairs.

Hermione seemed to be waiting for the footsteps to fade away because she sat silently on the sofa until Ron heard the fourth floor bedroom door finally close. She dabbed at the corner of his mouth gently then and whispered his name. He stirred slightly, but did not open up his eyes.

"Do you want to take your trainers off?" she asked softly. His only reply was to turn instinctively toward the sound of her voice. Taking that as an affirmative, she bent over the edge of the sofa to unlace both their shoes, but was alarmed to suddenly feel two large hands on either side of her waist. Her shirt had ridden up slightly when she had bent over to unlace the sneakers and the feel of Ron's hands on her bare skin made her jump. She glanced over her shoulder to see his eyes barely open, but looking to her covetously in his inebriated state. She pulled her shirt down, brushed his hands away and continued to unlace the shoes. Ron's hands immediately returned to her sides and again she pushed them away and sat back on the couch.

"Your mum's made you tea." She motioned to the table on the other side of Ron, but he just nestled closer to her, both hands reaching for her body again. "Ron, you need to sleep," she dismissed, moving away from him and unfolding the blanket. His eyes were half-closed and, though he was on the verge of sleep, he insisted on moving toward her again. This time he nuzzled close to her neck. His face got lost in the waves of her hair, but he hardly minded. He breathed in deeply and buried his face further against her. "Ron, no," she protested again softly, her voice sounding almost guilty at pushing him away.

He couldn't make the words sound from his mouth. He wanted to tell her all he wanted was to just be close with her, that her touch – however fleeting or innocent – made everything else in the world disappear, that just feeling her resting against him gave him a kind of comfort he couldn't even begin to describe. But he couldn't string the words together. All he could do was reach for her and try to show her he didn't want anything but to be close to her

Had his mother walked back downstairs then she might have been a bit doubtful at her decision to allow Hermione to spend the night on the couch with him. The two appeared to be wrestling silently on the couch, Ron edging and nuzzling toward her and Hermione patiently trying to push him away as he tried again and again to rest his head on her chest. Mistaking the direction of his movements for something more, she grew more forceful in her dismissals, pushing him away so hard she finally elbowed him in the nose by accident.

He withdrew quickly, clutching his nose and letting out a muffled cry of pain. Looking horrified at what she'd done, she immediately reached for her wand expectantly, but there appeared to be no blood or broken bone to fix, just a significant amount of pain. He frowned at her and retreated to the other side of the sofa.

"I'm sorry!" she scooted after him. "I'm so sorry! I just - I don't think it's a good idea to…you know, do anything here – especially since- "

"Don't wanna do anything," Ron admitted softly before she could finish, still clutching his nose in pain. "Just wanna…sleep."

"Oh," Hermione remarked, looking thoroughly confused and a bit embarrassed. "Then how come you were just - "

"I just want…" He dropped his hand from his nose and leaned back on the sofa exhaustedly, reaching out for her one last time. "…you."

He woke up and his head hurt and his mouth was dry and his limbs ached. He felt like he'd been run over by a herd of Hippogriffs. Even his eyeballs hurt, which he didn't even think was possible. The light streaming in from the window seemed intent on burning a hole through them into his skull. He realised very quickly that his stomach was also as uneasy as it had been last night and there was an awful taste in his mouth. But he woke up with his head in Hermione's lap and despite how wretched he felt, he couldn't help his lips from curling into a smile.

He remembered stretching out in countless awkward positions over the course of the night. He had turned every which way, contorting his lanky limbs over the edges of the sofa and burying his face against whatever surface of Hermione was available. She seemed to have stayed awake for most of the night. Mostly, he remembered sleeping with his head resting in her lap while her hands tenderly combed through his thick mop of red hair. At one point though, she finally succumbed to sleep and they both stretched out and slept side-by-side for a portion of the night. When Ron's eyes had fluttered open and he had seen her body resting there, angled toward him, her face inches away, he'd thought at first he was in an alcohol-induced dream. He'd happily fallen back asleep, but the next time he awoke she was sitting upright again and his head was in her lap. He knew she'd probably awoken and shifted positions, afraid of being caught by either of his parents in their earlier much more intimate, albeit accidental, arrangement.

He felt one of her hands atop his head now and the other fixed tenderly at the nape of his neck. He vaguely recalled falling asleep in a similar position last night and how she'd stroked his hair gently until he'd fallen asleep. He barely had time to revel in the feel of her hands on him before he heard the steps behind them creak, indicating someone coming down the stairs. Ron could feel Hermione's hands immediately tense against him.

"It's all right." He heard his dad whisper quietly in assurance as he turned the corner to enter the sitting room. "You're all right. Did he sleep at all?" Ron's eyes were still closed, but he could only imagine the look of discomfort on Hermione's face at how calmly his father was referencing the fact that she'd spent the night there with him.

"For most of the night," she finally squeaked, conveniently leaving out how Ron knew he had tossed and turned for the first few hours.

"I'd imagine that has quite a bit to do with you." Ron could hear cabinet doors opening as his dad went about preparing his morning cup of tea. He felt Hermione's hands begin to sweat against him.

"I– I should really have a shower and – "

"It's all right, Hermione," he heard his dad assure. "Molly told me you wanted to stay with him. He was in rough shape last night." Ron felt a wave of guilt and wondered just how bad off he'd been. He remembered little, but if his condition this morning said anything, he feared what he may have said and done. "Did he get sick?"

"No."

"That's good." He heard his dad give a quick incantation to heat up the cooker and for nearly a minute there was silence. "He's lucky to have you." His dad pulled down a mug and he paused then as the silence returned. "Or rather, we're lucky he has you."

He felt Hermione shift uncomfortably at the words, no doubt his dad's referring to her as somehow belonging to him having made her uneasy. Ron couldn't help but think it sounded wonderful. He heard the back door open then, signaling his father's withdrawal to the garage, as was his morning ritual.

Ron waited a few moments until he was confident his father had reached the garage and then shifted slightly. Careful to avoid the sunlight streaming in, which threatened to make the pain in his head worse, he opened his eyes slowly.

"Morning," he greeted, looking up at her with a half-closed gaze.

"You need to move," she whispered nervously, adjusting her legs beneath him.

"Why?" he mumbled groggily, his smile growing ever larger as he turned towards her. His face was now closer to places on Hermione than she appeared to be comfortable with.

"Ron!"

"What?" He nestled his face deeper into her lap, oblivious to her discomfort and only knowing what an incredible feeling it was to wake up and be able to feel her beside him. She couldn't even stammer a reply, just looked down to her lap where his long nose was mere centimeters from the zipper of her jeans. He followed her eyes and cursed himself for not realising the implications of such an intimate position. He truthfully hadn't meant anything by the placement of his head. Now that he did realise it, he wasn't so keen on moving, but her obvious embarrassment made him fumble over an apology. "I – er – I didn't mean to – honest I didn't -"

"Your mother was nice enough to let me stay down here last night so….you need to move!"

Ron groaned at the memory of last night and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, the words jerking him out of his sleepy haze. As soon as he picked his head up from her lap the throbbing in his temples intensified. He couldn't remember the whole evening in one coherent piece, but he did remember Hermione had run out to him with her shoes off and that at one point, his brother had punched him in the face.

"What happened last night?

"You don't remember anything?"

"I remember having some ale and maybe a glass or two of something else," Ron grimaced.

"I think it was more than just a glass or two," she spoke quietly, the disapproval in her voice evident. "You really can't remember anything that happened?"

"I had a go at Charlie." He suddenly recalled an awful lot of shouting and rubbed his lip. "I didn't say anything to you, did I?"

"Well, yes, you said a lot of things," Hermione stated quietly.

"But nothing - I mean, I didn't -" Ron was mortified at the possibility that, in the context of events he couldn't remember, he'd gotten angry or somehow insulted Hermione.

"You didn't say anything cruel, if that's what you're asking." The controlled manner that she spoke the words made Ron think while he hadn't said anything cruel he hadn't said anything particularly kind to her either. He raised his fingers to his swollen lip and a shameful look crossed his face as he looked up to Hermione imploringly.

"Can you fix it?"

"I can," she replied, but made no move for her wand. Hermione had always drawn clear moral lines about when using magic was appropriate. Clearly, using it to cover up his gross drunken mistakes was not one of them. "How do you feel?" she asked, taking note of the way he held his head as he slowly pulled himself upright.

"Like there's a Chimaera running round my head," he groaned. She propped herself up beside him, both eyes staring into the empty fireplace. His eyes rested momentarily on his brother's Cleansweep that was still propped up where he'd put it the other day.

"You were ready to leave for Australia," Hermione finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

"What?"

"Last night you wanted to leave for Australia."

"I did?"

"You honestly don't remember?" Ron gave an embarrassed shrug and scratched his head in an attempt to hide his humiliation. "That's all you wanted to do was go to Australia. You wanted to leave last night."

"I'd leave this morning if I could," he groaned.

"Do you still think it's a good idea?" She looked to him doubtfully. "Going to Australia, I mean?"

"I'm going with you," he stated matter-of-factly, but as he spoke the words the possibility slowly dawned on him that perhaps her question wasn't in reference to his parents. "Unless you don't want me to come," he spoke calmly, trying to hide the real fear in his voice at the suggestion. "Do you not want me to come?"

"I do!" She spoke much too quickly for Ron's liking. "I do, but I don't want you and your family to – it's just your family needs to help each other right now, Ron, not…fracture and come apart."

"Nobody's fracturing," Ron replied defensively, but Hermione's eyes rested on his swollen lip. Again the guilty look washed over Ron's face. Not unless you counted his attempt to attack his brother.

"You were talking about running away last night. A lot. About leaving right then - "

"Yeah, I was pissed though, wasn't I?" Ron interrupted.

"That doesn't mean you didn't mean what you said," she replied quietly. He knew she was talking about more than just his apparent insistence on running away. His stomach lurched. So he had said something to her. He'd had a go at her just the same way he had Charlie. He fixed his eyes shamefully on the sofa cushion that he'd drooled all over last night. He wondered if he'd drooled all over her lap as well. "You said a lot of things."

"If I said…I didn't...I mean…" The words were right there on the back of his tongue, but he could not force them out. He had never been good at taking responsibility for his mistakes. He was used to messing up and having Hermione correct him, but most of the time it was small mistakes like an essay for Transfiguration he'd done improperly or a bite that he'd taken that was too large. He messed up all the time. Give him a few months, years even, to mull over his blunders and he could eventually acknowledge them, but apologies weren't in his every day vernacular.

When he finally lifted his eyes to her he noticed she wasn't giving him the expectant look she usually did when he messed up though. She didn't look like she was waiting for an apology. In fact, she didn't look like she wanted anything from him at all. Her face just looked sad. He was reminded of the things Harry had said to him about how she'd cried for days when he'd walked out on them so many months ago. He wondered if he'd said anything that made her look that way last night. "I don't remember what I said, but if I - "

"You don't have to," she cut him off before he could even start his apology and it was then that Ron realised the look in her eyes wasn't just sadness. It was pity. She felt sorry for him. That's why she had spent the night here on the sofa with him. That's why she'd allowed him to sleep through the night with his head in her lap. He bristled and straightened up in his seat suddenly. He appreciated her understanding, her care, her empathy, but her pity set him on edge. She spoke his name softly and moved her hand to his shoulder. His eyes closed instinctively at the gentle touch, but the apology that he had been about to offer died in his throat. He saw in her face the same kind of pity from everyone who had passed on their condolences to his miserable family back at Hogwarts, the same pity from everyone who had stopped by the Burrow all week.

"Don't patronise me," he warned, his eyes flashing suddenly. He couldn't stand the look of pity on her face. The look that said he was just a poor sad sack she couldn't do anything for.

"Patronise? Ron, I'm not - I'm just saying you don't have to - "

"Is my dad out in the garage?" He rose to his feet, despite the pounding headache. Hermione frowned.

"Yes, but Ron, I didn't mean - "

"I'm going to go talk to him." He cut her off abruptly, ignoring the intense pressure on his temples. "Like you said, we probably ought to be up when mum comes down."

"Ron - " she stammered in protest again, but he was already halfway to the door. He knew he should thank her, for staying by his side last night, for putting up with whatever insensitive comments he'd hurled her way, for making sure he didn't hurt himself or someone else for that matter. But all he could see was the pitiable look on her face. All he could hear were her words Tuesday up in his bedroom. She was sorry he was dead. She was sorry he was sad. She was sorry he felt so miserable he'd drowned himself in Muggle spirits last night. He hated the word 'sorry'. Sorry is what people said to acknowledge when there was nothing they could do to make things better.

He halted before the door and glanced back at Hermione. She looked thoroughly confused, aware that somehow she'd just done something wrong, but unsure as to what. She looked defeated, like she'd just learned she'd failed all her O.W.L.S.

"I'll be back in a bit," he mumbled lamely and then he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

His father was huddled over the workbench in his garage and tinkering with a small black contraption when Ron walked inside. He was oblivious to Ron's entrance and was intently focused on a blinking red light that he seemed to be able to switch off and on with his hand. The workbench was crammed with similar pieces, many of which had been opened up and had multicolored wires exposed. The piece his dad was looking at was intact however and, judging by the blinking light, seemed to be functional. It was small enough to fit in his dad's hand and looked like it had two eyepieces, one looking quite like that on his set of omnoculars and the other more like a great big eye.

"What's that?" Ron spoke, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His head was still spinning and he was grateful for the dim lighting inside the garage.

"This!" His father scrunched up his face as he switched the light from red to green and held one of the eyepieces up to his own eye. "This is something Muggles use to save their memories," he announced.

"Like a Pensieve?" Ron drew a bit closer and peered at the object curiously.

"Not exactly." His dad reached out and flipped the device open. Ron took a step back, thoroughly intrigued by what was revealed. His dad's garage suddenly appeared on the tiny flat piece that had opened up, like an exact replica of what was in front of him. His dad waved his hand in front of the other end of the screen and his hand too appeared on the flat canvas.

"It's like a camera then?"

"Indeed. Muggles call it a camera recorder," his dad informed proudly. "Or just a cam-recorder, I think. You press this button here." He motioned to the button that had changed the light from red to green. "And it will save exactly what you're looking at. Not just the picture, but the sounds as well. Then you can watch it again and again! Quite a brilliant invention, really." He turned the camcorder on Ron, who abhorred having his photograph taken and instinctively moved away. Still, he was intrigued by the device. It seemed to be quite convenient and though he wouldn't want to appear on it, he knew he thought it would be fun to play with.

"How are you feeling?" His dad turned the contraption off and set it down on the workbench, looking to Ron kindly.

"Rotten," Ron admitted sheepishly.

"Well, that's to be expected. Spend all afternoon in a pub, you'd be some kind of a champion not to feel at least some of the effects." Ron was unable to muster a reply. "Still, it's better ale than anything else," his dad dismissed in a surprisingly cavalier manner. "My first time it was with a bit of Greenfairy."

"Greenfairy!" Ron looked aghast that his father had ingested a drink so notorious. "I thought that stuff was banned!"

"Not when I was at Hogwarts. Your uncle, Bilius, he got a hold of some in Hogsmeade and brought it back to the dormitories."

"Uncle Bilius did?"

"I don't remember how much I drank, but I ended up in the prefects' bathroom in nothing more than my Y-fronts and a Gryffindor scarf!"

"You're joking me!" Ron laughed, equal parts repulsed and amused at the thought of his father naked and pissed after a night of drinking.

"Can't remember a thing about that night," his dad chuckled to himself.

"I don't like it," Ron confessed. "Not remembering anything, I mean."

"I wouldn't make a habit out of it."

"Did Charlie say anything about…did he say - " Ron stammered curiously.

"He told us you were angry and talking about leaving, refusing to come inside."

"And Hermione?" Ron wondered when it was she had decided to go out to him without her shoes.

"Once he mentioned you leaving she ran out after you in quite a hurry." Ron cast his eyes downward at the confession. "We all knew if she couldn't get you back inside then nobody could." His father's statement made him more uncomfortable for some reason.

He wondered if his face had been buried so close to Hermione's fly when his dad had passed them by on the sofa. Seeming to answer his question, his dad plopped down on a bench then and motioned for Ron to do the same.

"Your mother and I couldn't be happier for you, you know that, right?" Ron squirmed on the bench, finding it difficult to look his father in the eye. "With all that's happened…" His voice drifted and Ron knew to what he was referring. That's how his family talked about Fred. He had been reduced to an event, a euphemism his family referred to in order to avoid saying exactly what Hermione had up in his bedroom Wednesday: that Fred was dead. "With all that's happened there haven't been many reasons to smile, but you and Hermione." His dad smiled broadly then, the kind of smile Ron couldn't recall seeing on him all week. "It makes us so happy. I hope you know that." Ron still found it difficult to look his father in the eye. "She is everything we have ever wanted for you and more."

"Then how come mum's so weird about her?" Ron blurted out finally. "She's still the same Hermione. She's just…my girlfriend now," he added sheepishly. "Mum treats her like she's done something wrong."

"It's not been easy for her, Ron," his dad spoke calmly. "You have to understand for your mother and myself this is a bit like déjà vu." He licked his lips and paused thoughtfully. "You forget your mother lost both her brothers in the last war."

Ron immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He knew very little about his mother's two brothers, Fabian and Gideon, aside from the fact that they'd died well before he was born. He hadn't even stopped in the events of the past week to remember they hadn't died in an accidental fire or a spell gone wrong, but had been killed by Death Eaters just like Fred had.

"It's hard enough for her to have to go through it all again, but to watch her sons go through what she did too…"

"But…" Ron fidgeted with a thick black cord on his dad's workbench. "What's that got to do with Hermione?"

"Well, it's just hard not to notice that she's…who you're taking comfort in these days." The delicate phrasing sounded very much like a hint to his frequent disappearances up in his bedroom. Ron knew what he was inferring, but for the first time he didn't flush and look away. "Back when your mum lost her brothers…" His dad was suddenly the one who looked embarrassed. "Back then that person was me." He cleared his throat suddenly, as if to carry the conversation in another direction. "Your mum took it badly. She hid for a long time. 'Twas nearly a year before she could even talk about them again. She just doesn't…she doesn't want to see you go through the same thing. And hiding the way you are - "

"I'm not hiding," Ron replied defensively.

"It's hard for her to see. We just want to see you happy."

"She makes me happy." The words tumbled instinctively from his lips.

"I know that." His dad smiled and put a hand on Ron's shoulder then. "We just don't want her to be the only thing that does." Ron was reminded of Hermione's constant urging that they go downstairs and hang out with Harry and Ginny, of Harry's frequent suggestions that he go have a fly.

He scratched his head and fixed his eyes on an odd device hanging on the wall that he thought his father had told him Muggles used to suck up dirt. It had a small motor, a large hose like an elephant's trunk out one end and a thin cord like the one he was playing with coming out the other end. Before he could ask the name of the awkward device, his father spoke. Suddenly, it was his dad's turn to be uncomfortable.

"So did uh…did Charlie talk to you about…uh…well…I asked him to talk to you about you and…er Hermione and – well – whether or not you're- you know, using - "

"Dad, don't – honestly - no – just stop." Ron tried to talk over his dad to keep from hearing the conversation he'd been lucky enough to avoid his entire adolescence. He could hardly believe that now, at age eighteen, after everything he'd been through this year, his dad was trying to discuss this with him.

"I just - we need to know you're being safe, Ron." His dad spoke over his loud protests. Ron wanted to shout that he had no business knowing what exactly he and Hermione did or didn't do up in his bedroom, but somehow he didn't think secrecy was the best approach.

"Look, when we go upstairs…it's not what you think." He mumbled in mortification, his cheeks a deep shade of scarlet. The admission was hardly audible, but he could see from the relieved expression on his dad's face that he had heard him.

"Well, you should still know -"

"I know the spell, Dad. Fred and George taught it to me ages ago." Ron tried to shut his dad up with a white lie. The twins had jokingly told him about a spell last Christmas holiday when he'd been dating Lavender. There had been no teaching of how exactly to do it.

"It's really quite tricky. There's two incantations in fact, one for you and one for her- "

"Just stop!" Ron held up is hands in protest. He knew it was immature, but he could not allow himself to hear his dad reference Hermione the way he was, to even allude to the precautions that they would have to take when their relationship progressed past rubbing up against each other on his bed.

"I just want you to be prepared when the time comes -"

"Stop talking!"

"Sexual intimacy is a…well, it's a big deal, but the more prepared you are - "

"Dad!" Ron sprang to his feet at the words and turned away abruptly, hardly believing he had let his dad say as much as he had.

"No need to be embarrassed about it." The words were entirely unconvincing considering his dad's own discomfort at saying them was obvious. Neither looked eager to continue talking and the conversation was clearly at an end.

"I'm going to go have a wash," Ron announced, but his stomach fell as soon as he realised what would take place after his shower. Blame it on his raging headache, but this morning was actually the first time all week he'd awoken and Fred hadn't been the first thing on his mind. "What time does it start?" Ron asked suddenly, hardly believing today was the day that had once seemed so far off.

"I expect people will start to arrive in a few hours."

"Right." Suddenly his dad's pitiful attempt at a sex talk felt like the last thing on his mind. Soon the Burrow would be filled with all the people he had said goodbye to back at Hogwarts and King's Cross. Hagrid would be there and Lee Jordan and Oliver Wood and Professor McGonagall and Madame Hooch. His stomach lurched at the thought of so many people flooding his home to do nothing more than offer the same kind of pity that had set him on edge that morning with Hermione.

He noted her obvious absence from the sofa as he returned to the sitting room. She had fluffed the pillows back up and neatly folded the blanket so there was no evidence anybody had slept on the sofa. He glanced at Ginny's first floor bedroom as he climbed the stairs, reckoning his sister had probably been enraged last night when Hermione hadn't returned to the camp bed and she figured out their mother had allowed her to spend the night with him. He wondered if she and Harry both thought the same thing his dad did about their activities. Did the whole house think they were shagging?

He moved slowly as he climbed up the stairs, his head still raging and a general feeling of queasiness overwhelming him. He wasn't sure whether the queasiness was the effects of the alcohol or the thought of what the day held. The door to the third floor bathroom was closed when he finally reached it and he gave a couple loud raps on the door with his knuckles. Growing up in a family his size he'd learned the hard way to always knock before entering anywhere.

"I'm in here." Hermione's voice sounded from behind the door.

Ron stiffened upon hearing her voice. He wasn't sure how to address her after his abrupt departure this morning. He hated how his bloody pride had gotten in the way when all she'd been trying to do was be kind to him. He still couldn't remember what exactly he'd said to her last night. He did remember that she'd run out to see him with her shoes off and, at one point, put her fingers in his mouth. He remembered she'd taken his trainers off and accidentally hit him in the nose. He remembered falling asleep with his head in her lap and waking up at one point with her face inches from his own.

"It's me." He waited to hear her voice on the other end of the door, but was met with silence. He knew he deserved it so he kept talking. "I was – erm – I just wanted to – well, I was wondering if I could use the loo after you," he stammered.

"Sure," she replied shortly.

"Will you come help me get dressed after?" he blurted out the first thing that came to him. Hermione snorted at the bizarre request. She deserved an apology he knew, for his behaviour last night and the way he'd left her this morning. It was there, buried deep in his throat, yet he could not force the words from his lips. He stammered over an explanation instead. "I just – I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to wear today and, well, I was hoping – maybe if you – er, maybe you could help me." The thought of standing in front of his wardrobe and having to choose an outfit to wear to his brother's funeral made him want to throw up. It was the kind of thing he knew he couldn't do alone. He needed Hermione.

"Sure." She spoke after a long pause, her voice not sounding nearly as brusque as before. The door opened up a crack and Ron looked hopefully to it, hoping he'd get a chance to actually speak to her instead of having to talk through the door. Instead, she just walked past him, a pale blue towel wrapped tightly around her body and her wet hair falling down her back. Ron's eyes couldn't help but be distracted by the sudden sight.

Had her legs always been that long or was the towel, like so many things at the Burrow, just not the right size? Whenever she wore skirts at Hogwarts it was always accompanied with a thick pair of stockings. He didn't think he'd ever seen so much of her leg before. Ron could only stand and watch her scurry down the stairs to Ginny's room. She didn't so much as glance behind her.

The door beside the bathroom opened up suddenly and Harry climbed out of his cave-like room. His hair was sticking up at all kinds of different angles and he didn't have his glasses on yet so he squinted at Ron.

"Are you using the loo?" He rubbed his eyes groggily.

"Yeah," Ron replied weakly. He knew nodding his head would not help the pounding headache that still raged in his temples.

"Feeling any better?"

"Bit worse, to be honest," Ron mumbled uncomfortably. He wondered how much of a spectacle he had been.

"Did you get sick?"

"No. Least I don't think so."

"You don't remember?"

"No, I don't remember much of anything." Ron was as humiliated to admit the words to Harry as much as he had been to Hermione.

"Charlie said you drank more than he did," Harry remarked, looking a bit impressed.

"Yeah? What else did he say?" Ron inquired, curious if he could glean any more information from the night.

"That you said kissing Hermione is the best thing you've ever done in your life." Harry gave a teasing grin. Ron groaned at the revelation and covered his face with his hands. "That her lips taste like strawberry pie."

"Stop."

"That she smells like ice cream and flowers," Harry rattled on.

"Please stop," Ron protested weakly.

"That you once stole my Invisibility Cloak to spy on her in the Prefect's Bathroom." Harry laughed and he stepped back down into his room.

"That wasn't – that was only – I didn't!" Ron followed after Harry, stammering protest.

"Oh, it keeps going," his friend grinned. "But don't worry, your secrets are safe for now."

"I don't remember saying anything," Ron admitted wearily.

"Well, I don't reckon Charlie would make it up. Seeing as he doesn't even know I have an Invisibility Cloak," Harry teased.

"I didn't steal it!" Ron clarified. "I mean, I just borrowed it and I – I didn't really see anything."

Harry sputtered with laughter at the confession and, for some reason, it made Ron smile too.

"She was already in the bath and there were too many fucking bubbles." He recalled the fifth year memory and how all he'd been able to see was her head and her toes. He'd chickened out and ran before Myrtle gave him away. Harry kept laughing. "She'd still kill me if she ever found out." Ron grinned just imagining her fury at his randy sixteen year old self.

"I'll take it to the grave."

Their laughter hung in the air a moment, but then Ron could see something else weighing on Harry. He wished he wouldn't say anything. He just wanted to keep laughing with his friend, even if it was at his own expense.

"He said…er...he said you were talking about leaving," Harry admitted finally.

"Just to Australia." Ron recalled his conversation with Hermione on the sofa, in which she'd revealed the same thing. "That's all."

"Right, but he said…he said you wanted to leave last night. That you didn't want to come home."

Ron looked just as uncomfortable as Harry then. The words didn't ring a bell, but the sentiment behind him wasn't something he needed to sit in a pub for five hours to feel. He didn't want to come home because he didn't like being home. The only pleasant part of being home so far had been yesterday when Hermione had let him cop a feel., even if it had been over her shirt

"I don't – I don't remember," he stumbled.

"Promise me you won't leave, mate," Harry blurted out then.

"Leave?" Ron blinked twice and frowned at his friend's sudden seriousness.

"Yeah."

"Well, I am." He gave a casual shrug. "I mean, Hermione and I are leaving Sunday - "

"I just mean today. Ginny's, well…just don't go running off to snog Hermione. She needs you, Ginny does."

"She's got you," Ron replied curtly.

"She needs her big brother," Harry implored. "It's like she didn't just lose one brother. She lost three." Ron felt a pang of guilt as he thought about Harry's words and of George shut up in his room.

"She's had a go at me every sodding chance she's got," he recalled all the snide comments Ginny had made in four short days at home.

"Come on, that's how you two have always been," Harry dismissed. "She misses you. She's missed you all year." Ron said nothing. For some reason, he felt like Charlie had talked about this with him yesterday as well. That marked three people, if he included Hermione's words this morning about not letting his family fracture.

He couldn't help but feel like he was somehow being admonished by his best friend for spending time alone with Hermione.

"Just stay close today, yeah?" Harry tried to sound casual, but Ron felt suddenly annoyed at the thought that Harry was telling him what to do.

What nerve did he have telling him not to run off with Hermione? He'd had three weeks of uninterrupted bliss where he and Ginny had gotten to tuck away and be alone doing things Ron would prefer not to ever think about. Who was he to tell him not to be with Hermione today of all days? Didn't he know she was the only thing that could possibly get him through it? No sooner did the anger wash over him then it quickly passed and he realised his best mate was only speaking as somebody who cared. For some reason, it made him think about Hermione.

"I yelled at her," Ron confessed suddenly. Harry seemed to sense he was talking about Hermione and not Ginny as Ron looked at the floor shamefully. "I mean, I think I did."

"You did," Harry confirmed. Ron felt like an idiot. Of course Hermione would talk to Harry.

"When did you talk to her?"

"She came up this morning before she washed up," Harry explained.

"Was she upset?" Ron inquired glumly. Harry simply nodded. "Was she crying?" The sober expression on Harry's face answered his question. The queasiness returned in Ron's stomach. He didn't want to look at Harry. He didn't even want to try to explain himself. He just rose to his feet. "I'll let you know when I'm out of the shower." He heard Harry call after him, but he just climbed out of the room and into the tiny bathroom that served all eight Weasleys.

His gaze drifted down to the hook where Fred's towel would normally hang as he grabbed his own from the topmost hook. Though neither of the twins had lived at the Burrow for years, his mum still left things in the house just the same. Whenever they came for an evening their things were always just as they left them. He tried hard to remember the last time before the wedding Fred and George had even come home. Staring at the towel hooks, Ron couldn't keep his thoughts from wandering to the sight of Hermione in that pale blue towel moments ago. His brain was all over the place. What was wrong with him for thinking about things like this on the day of his brother's funeral? What was wrong with him for thinking about that when he just learned she'd run to Harry crying.

He stepped into the shower and let the water cascade down his body. He thought about the things his dad had said, about how he took comfort in Hermione, and how his mum had done the same with his dad. What was wrong with focusing on the positives he had in his life? What was wrong with taking pleasure in these moments that he and Hermione had put off for so many months and years? He didn't feel like sitting around with a family that conveniently seemed to ignore the fact that George never joined them. He didn't care to come back down for pudding when he knew at some point somebody would bring him up. They'd mention one of the twins and the whole room would lock up. Ron's eyes would rest on his picture on the mantle and all he could think about was how unfair and cruel the world was to take his brother away. But when he was with Hermione, all he thought about was her. The way she ran her fingers through his hair, the tiny gasps that sounded when he kissed her neck, the desperate way she had clung to him on the landing yesterday.

He turned off the water and wrapped a towel loosely around his waist to make his way up the stairs, shouting through Harry's door that he was finished like he'd promised. He was glad his parents had decided to schedule the funeral in the morning. Though it was only a few hours away he already hated the hours between now and then. He couldn't imagine the thought of waiting around all day for it. He closed the door behind him and quickly pulled on a pair of shorts from the neatly folded pile of laundry Hermione and Ginny had brought up yesterday. He couldn't help but think about how flustered Hermione had been when her undergarments had tumbled out all over the floor, but how she seemed to have no problem handling his.

He stood in front of his wardrobe, toweling off his hair and wondering what one was even supposed to wear to a funeral. They'd all just worn their school robes to Dumbledore's funeral and that was the only one he'd been to that he could remember. He'd been too young at Uncle Bilius' to remember anything aside from the feast afterward. He knew you weren't supposed to wear bright colors, but he suddenly seemed to have an abundance of bright red and orange clothing. And everything else was either striped or checkered and he reckoned one didn't wear patterns to a funeral either. He rifled through his wardrobe in exasperation, desperately wishing he had Hermione's opinion.

He didn't have anything nice to wear aside from the dress robes he'd worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding. Somehow he thought wearing the same thing to a funeral would be highly inappropriate.

He looked over clothes he hadn't touched in over a year, pausing as he lifted up a handsome black woolen jumper that Hermione had bought him for his sixteenth birthday. He remembered she wouldn't say whether it had come from Madame Malkin's or a Muggle clothing store and she wouldn't tell him how much it had cost, but it was nicer than any heavy hand-knitted Weasley jumper he had ever owned.

The memory of the jumper was a pleasant distraction. As unenthused as he'd appeared to be when he opened it up, owning such a fashionable piece of clothing had excited him tremendously. Whether it was her intention or not, the jumper had shown to him that she paid attention when he complained about his hand-me-down clothes and she took note when he grumbled about never owning anything new. It was the nicest gift she'd ever gotten him. He remembered that all he'd gotten her that year was ten feet of brand new parchment and different colored inks he'd bought in Diagon Alley over the summer. He had written her a note though, which had been a first for him. Happy Birthday! Try not to use this all up before October! The note had read. She had appeared to appreciate the gesture and it certainly went over better than his perfume later on at Christmas. She'd even given him a hug.

He lost himself in comforting thoughts about fifth year. That year had been the year he thought they might happen. Many a night they'd been alone on their prefect rounds and the thought had crossed his mind about what it might be like to kiss her. He had been so unsure how she felt. He was quite sure normal friends didn't give each other clothes and then she'd kissed him on the cheek before his first Quidditch match and there had been all those D.A meetings where they had partnered up. If he'd only had Twelve Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches then he might have had a chance to move forward then. He felt now that they'd wasted so much precious time and so many opportunities.

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the jumper. It was classy and formal and definitely not bright. Would it be too depressing if he wore it with a pair of grey trousers? Then he'd just be this drab colored bloke in black and grey. He would depress everybody. He also had a grey jumper he could wear with black trousers, but his chest tightened as he recalled the grey jumper had once belonged to Fred and he couldn't bring himself to wear that. He turned to his dress robes then, the nice navy blue ones Fred and George had bought him two summers ago. Perhaps more traditional robes were the way to go.

He collapsed down onto the bed, still wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He could hear the rest of the house slowly waking up. He wondered if anyone else was struggling with what to wear as much as he was. This was just stupid. Nobody would remember what he was wearing. Nobody would even be looking at him. Why did there even have to be a funeral anyway? The whole idea just seemed stupid. Getting together to be depressed and cry and watch a body be lowered into the ground. This was all just a formality. That body wouldn't even be Fred. There was nothing they could do. There was no magical spell to say goodbye, nothing that would allow him to talk to his brother one last time. There was the Resurrection Stone, of course, but Harry had dropped it in the forest and Ron hadn't dared ask where, even though he'd been tempted to on more than one occasion.

He thought he could hear his Great Aunt Muriel's shrill voice downstairs, which meant people were already arriving. Still he made no effort to move. His thoughts returned to the Resurrection Stone. Maybe he could find it. Maybe he could Apparate to Hogsmeade and walk over to the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid had carried Harry out of the forest and his enormous tracks would be easy to follow. Plus there had been a whole host of Death Eaters that had trailed behind Hagrid and those tracks couldn't be hard to find either. If he could just locate the trail, he remembered Hermione telling him about a tracking spell that could follow it for him. Then maybe he could find it. He could bring the stone back here and he could bring Fred back.

He glanced over at his clock and realised he'd been staring at his wardrobe for over an hour. He wondered if Hermione had forgotten her promise to help him. Maybe she'd just lied to him and had no intention of helping him after how he'd walked out on her this morning. Maybe she was eating breakfast. He guessed going to a funeral on an empty stomach might not be the greatest idea. He knew he should probably eat something too as most of what he'd ingested yesterday had been a liquid.

The commotion downstairs grew louder and louder and the pit in his stomach just felt heavier and heavier. He wondered if anyone would even notice if he just stayed upstairs for the rest of the day. He bet if he just disappeared nobody would even notice his absence from the funeral.

"Ron?" Hermione's voice sounded suddenly outside the door. Nobody except Hermione, that is. "Ron, are you ready?" He heard the door handle turn and he leapt to his feet, mortified for some reason at the possibility of Hermione walking in on him as he lay on his bed in just his boxer shorts and knowing he'd been doing nothing the past hour.

He scrambled about his room, searching for a pair of trousers and a shirt. "One minute!" He called frantically, hurriedly jerking on whatever clothing was closest to him. The door opened up and Hermione frowned at him as she glanced at his out of breath expression.

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing, just…getting dressed," he stammered, trying to pick his jaw up off the floor as he looked to her. She was wearing a simple black dress with thin straps he was quite sure was Ginny's and her hair looked surprisingly sleek and shiny like it had for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Ron couldn't make any words as he looked to the dress that looked a bit too large for Hermione in places he rather enjoyed.

"Sorry it took me so long. I had to wear something of your sister's and, well, it didn't fit quite right in places." She looked self-consciously down to her chest and pulled the dress up. Ron noticed she still wore a bandage on her left arm, but he didn't comment on it. "Your Great Aunt Muriel said it was inappropriate to wear to a funeral and that I looked like a strumpet, but it was all we could find." She waved a black cardigan around in her hands. "Fleur's given me this to wear over it so hopefully I look all right."

"Never mind Muriel," Ron dismissed.

"She told me I had skinny ankles and bad posture again." Ron remembered his mother's aunt had told her the same thing at the wedding.

"She's a crazy old bat," he scoffed. "You look…you look…"

"I know. I look nice."

"You look beautiful," Ron whispered.

He had never been so frank in an assessment of her appearance before. He had told her she looked "nice", "great", and "good", which is clearly what she'd expected him to say. There was no tone of surprise to his assertion either. He'd said the words as nothing less than a confident statement of fact. She blushed and bowed her head, clearly unsure how to take the brazen compliment.

"What are you going to wear, then?" Hermione again looked to the clothes he had on. He was wearing the trousers he'd cleaned the broomshed in and a striped shirt with a frayed collar and sleeves. "Obviously not that."

"I have no idea." Ron collapsed back onto the bed. He was grateful that she didn't seem to want to dwell on his behaviour last night or this morning for that matter. Far from her curt replies downstairs outside the bathroom, she was doing a fine job at pretending none of it had ever happened. He didn't want to ruin all that by telling her that the more he sat up here and thought about what to wear the less he wanted to attend the funeral at all. He was just pleased she seemed to be making nothing of his stormy exit from the sofa that morning.

"Is Fred here yet?" he inquired suddenly. He wasn't sure why his getting dressed was at all dependent upon whether his brother had arrived inside his coffin yet, but he somehow needed to hear it. Ginny's room was on the second floor and he knew if Hermione had been getting dressed in there she had likely heard more than he did up here in his fifth floor fortress.

"Yes." She spoke quietly after a long pause.

"And mum and dad?"

"They're up at the gravesite. They said we should be outside to let people know where to go."

"I don't even know where to go," Ron sighed, dropping down on the bed.

"I can show you. It's just past the orchard. At the base of that big buckthorn bush where you said you all used to play."

"Right."

"It's really nice. Ginny and I went up there yesterday while Harry was talking to Kingsley." Though he knew she hadn't intended them to, the words sounded almost like an accusation to Ron. They'd been visiting Fred's future grave while he'd been getting pissed at the pub with Charlie.

"Right."

"Come on then, let's figure out what you can wear." She turned toward his wardrobe then. Ron was impressed at her attempt at cheerfulness, especially considering how short he'd been with her this morning. He admired her effort, really he did, but it would take more than a beautiful dress and a smile to wash away the sudden urge he had to stay up here in his room for the rest of the day.

"I don't…" He started to mumble the words he'd been thinking about all morning. "I don't think I'm going to go."

"Don't be silly, we'll find something for you." She handed him two sets of possible trousers to wear and continued to rifle through his clothing.

"Hermione - "

"We'll find something for you to wear and you'll - "

"Hermione, I'm not going to go."

"Of course you're going to go to your brother's funeral." She laughed at the absurdity of the statement and continued to pull out wardrobe options.

"No. I'm not." She turned around slowly, two neatly folded Weasley sweaters in her hand, and stared at him curiously, seeming to sense he was serious.

"Why on earth wouldn't you go?"

" 'Cause I don't want to." He shrugged simply.

"But Ron -"

"I don't want to go and watch them put him in the ground, Hermione." He spoke with an edge to his voice that he knew Hermione could detect. Her brow wrinkled as he spoke the words. "I don't want to sit there and listen to them talk about him and watch everybody cry and say goodbye to him when it's obviously too late for that."

"But Ron - "

"It is too late! Don't tell me it's not," he scoffed, the anger now taking hold of him. "The time to say goodbye to him was five days ago before he went to go guard the passageways with George." Ron hoped she couldn't detect the twinge of regret in his voice. "He's gone and I don't need a bloody funeral to tell me that. I just don't see the effing point to it all."

"You'll regret not going to his funeral, Ron, you'll regret it your whole life. Please."

"I'm not going."

"Your family needs you there."

"I'm not going." He felt more confident each time he said the words.

"I need you there," she pleaded and pressed her hands to her chest. "Please."

"I'm not going."

"You're being silly - "

"Maybe I am."

"And you're being selfish."

"You're probably right," he admitted quietly.

"Please, just get dressed. You'll feel better once you're dressed. You can put on this." She held up the black jumper she'd bought him years ago. "Look, you've never even worn it! And you can wear these." She held up the grey trousers he had already selected as well. "And you can meet me downstairs and we'll do this – we'll do this together, Ron." She took his hand, but he let it fall back to his side limply.

"I'm not doing it."

"You're acting just like you did last night!" She folded her arms across her chest crossly, her frustration clearly growing.

"Well, then maybe you're right and it wasn't the ale after all."

"Would you stop being so stubborn?"

"Would you stop telling me what to do?" he fired back.

"I'm not telling you what to do." She lowered her voice and collected herself. "I'm just telling you the truth and that is you will regret not coming to your brother's funeral."

"You have no idea what I'll regret!" he attacked. This was like last night when he'd swung back and forth between anger and sadness so drastically. "You don't know what it's like!"

"You're right." She pressed her hands to her chest. "But I do know the longer you hide from this…the harder it is going to be."

"I'm not hiding," Ron challenged, the same way he'd challenged his dad when he had accused him of the same thing out in the garage.

"You are hiding! Everything you've done since it happened has been hiding, Ron!" Ron's eyes flicked about the room in annoyance, refusing to rest on Hermione. He could hear her starting to come undone as she spoke the words and he knew the floodgates were now open. "Since we went up to the common room that morning, you've been hiding! Every time we come up here, you've been hiding!"

"Well, if you think I'm hiding so much why do you even stay with me?"

"Because I care about you, you idiot, and I hate seeing you hurting!" she cried and the tears that had been threatening fell freely from her face now.

"So it's 'cause you feel bad for me then." His feelings downstairs on the sofa when he'd correctly placed the look on her face to be one of pity suddenly returned. "That's the reason you come up here and - "

"No, Ron, please, don't be like this!" she sighed. "Obviously, that's not the only reason I - "

"But it's one of the reasons," he scowled.

"Did you hear nothing I said to you the other day?" Hermione managed a laugh. "About being with you and how it's - "

"You think I've been hiding," Ron cut her off.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath and finally seemed to regain her composure.

"Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you're not?" she inquired simply. "You tell me that part of the reason you don't…love coming up here is because it makes you forget." Ron's eyes scanned the room, avoiding hers as much as possible so she couldn't see that it felt like she'd just read his mind. "I know when I…" She paused momentarily and licked her lips, suddenly looking very embarrassed. "I know when I kiss you that I forget about everything else in the world and everything that's happened. I almost forget where I am." Ron tried to look unmoved at her heartfelt confession. "All I think about is you and me and it's like everything else just melts away." She took in a deep breath and pressed her hands to her chest. "I love that feeling. I love being with you," she confessed and Ron shifted uncomfortably at her casual use of such heavy words they had yet to exchange. "I don't know what else I can tell you to make you believe that." She sounded utterly exasperated at her need to defend herself. He felt guilty for questioning her, but could not muster a reply.

The more she talked the more he realised he was rubbish at the whole relationship thing. This was for people like his brother, Bill, even Harry, who now seemed to be quite the expert. He didn't know what he was doing. One minute he was in the shower fantasizing about tearing her towel off and doing things that would make her blush, the next he was arguing and attacking her motivations for even being with him in the first place. Hermione touched his arm softly and this time he didn't withdraw. He opened up his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He fidgeted uncomfortably, thinking back to the past five glorious days he already seemed to have messed up. He knew he would screw up their relationship in the first week, just like he had told both Harry and Charlie he would. He blew out a loud, frustrated sigh.

"Talk to me, Ron," she requested softly, reaching out for his hand. "I hate not knowing what to do for you."

"Just…stay with me." He shrugged simply. "That's all, just stay up here with me and - "

"I'm going to the funeral," she stated firmly.

"Please, stay here with me. I can't do it, Hermione. I need you to stay."

"You can do it." She took both his hands then and squeezed them. "We can do it together."


	16. Chapter 16

He told her he would, at the very least, change into the clothes she had picked out for him and meet her at the bottom of the stairs. He made no promises that he would change his mind about attending the funeral. She looked hopeful however and when he saw her standing at the landing he knew she was still holding out that something inside him had changed. The house was surprisingly empty save for her. Ron wondered if everybody was already gathered around the buckthorn bush.

"You look handsome." Hermione offered quietly as he slowly made his way down the stairs. He wondered if she was simply repaying the compliment he'd bestowed upon her earlier. The grey trousers, which he hadn't worn in years, were too short and exposed his ankle more than they should.

"Thanks." He decided to accept the compliment as he tugged at the sleeves of the black jumper, which being two years old was also a bit too small for him. "The jumper fits nicely," he lied and smiled at her in thanks before saying what he knew would cause the smile to fall from her face. "I'm not going."

She didn't flinch at his words, didn't cry or complain. She looked almost as if she expected it.

"I need you there with me," she implored one last time.

He just touched her arm softly in a weak attempt to apologise. "I'm sorry. I just can't." Then he turned on his heel and walked out the front door.

He exited to the north so he wouldn't have to watch her make the lonely walk to the gravesite on her own. He wondered what his family would do when she showed up without him. They'd probably be as disappointed as she was. He turned west sharply at the chicken coop and walked into the neighboring cornfield, where he enjoyed how easy it was to get lost and forget about everything else amid the identical rows of corn.

He thought about her words of warning - the longer he hid the worse it would be. He kicked at a clod of dirt between the rows. She wasn't always right about everything. Hiding could make it all easier to deal with eventually; accepting it after he was numb to the pain could help. And what was wrong with wanting to escape in her embrace for a couple of hours a day?

Every other moment in his house he had to look at things that reminded him of Fred. There was his picture on the mantle, his broom resting by the fireplace, and his conspicuous absence from his mother's clock in the kitchen. He had noticed that yesterday. He wondered if the clock just knew to take him down or if his mother had gotten rid of it. Either way, he hated it. Removing him from the clock felt like removing him from the family. People would soon forget about Fred, the same way he never remembered his uncles Fabian and Gideon.

Ron kicked at another dirt clod and was happy when he saw it disintegrate at the force of his blow. Then there was George. Everyone in the family treated George like he was one step away from St. Mungo's. They rapped on his door five times a day, imploring him to come out, but on the rare occasion he did nobody seemed quite sure how to speak to him. They didn't seem to notice his habit of removing himself from conversation by sitting with his earless side facing them. They almost seemed grateful for his self-imposed seclusion. Ron wondered if it was because every time they looked at George they could, of course, see Fred. He wondered if maybe that was the reason George was hiding in the first place. Maybe he just didn't want to make people more miserable than they already were. That's all the funeral would do anyway - make people more depressed, and that's why he wasn't going.

All they were going to do was state the obvious. Fred was gone. Sure, they'd commemorate his life and people would stand up and offer tribute like they had at Dumbledore's, but all they were really doing was putting him in the ground. He thought about the ancient funeral preparations he'd learned about when his family had vacationed in Egypt among the pyramids. When he'd been thirteen years old, the thought of removing organs from a dead body and pulling someone's brains out through their nose with a hook had been cool. He and the twins had told the stories over and over to the rest of the boys in Gryffindor tower.

He wondered what they'd done to prepare his brother to be buried. Was there a spell to make sure he didn't start to rot? Did they have to magically drain his blood and remove his organs like the Egyptians did? Was there a spell for that too? He wondered if Fred had gone all stiff and if his eyes had sunk back into his eye sockets yet.

A wave of nausea swept through Ron and he collapsed to his knees at the thought, retching uncontrollably.

His brother had been prepared. His body was lying in a coffin outside the orchard next to the buckthorn bush he'd used to hide in when they'd played as kids. Great dry heaves wracked his body and Ron vomited into the grass.

Sticky saliva dripped from his mouth as Ron slowly got to his feet and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, forgetting it was Hermione's fancy jumper. He willed the morbid thoughts out of his head as best he could and continued to wander about the cornfield, cutting across the rows at random. He gave little thought to where he was going and every now and again he'd stagger through wet swampy areas that required him to wade in past his ankles. He made his way around the swampy fields and eventually began to climb a small hill that he knew bordered the orchard. The hill was not very large, but it was steep and he had to hike up his trousers, which were now dripping wet. He knew where the hill would lead him and what it would overlook. He wasn't entirely sure why he kept traveling up it. He would be able to see the hole in the ground, the coffin, the mourners, and his entire grieving family.

What he didn't expect to see was George sitting at the top of the hill too watching it all. He was dressed quite like Ron, in an outfit that indicated at one point he had possibly intended to go to the funeral himself. If he was at all surprised to see Ron he did not let on, he simply gave a silent nod of the head and slowly turned his head back to the funeral.

Ron said nothing either. He just walked over and sat down on the hard-packed earth beside his brother. Down below, he could see a sea of dark shades of grey, green, blue, and of course, black. He could make out his family huddled together in the first row of chairs. He could see Hermione seated up with them in the seat where he would have sat and Harry was there beside Ginny as well. The smiling picture of Fred his family had picked out to display grinned out and winked at the reception. The Cleansweep Ron had pulled out of the broomshed was propped up beside it. The sight made Ron's stomach churn. The photo was flanked by two large white lilies that swayed back and forth in a decidedly melancholy manner. He wasn't sure whose idea the dancing lilies had been, but they seemed unbelievably out of place. Nothing about the funeral, aside from the picture of him and his old Cleansweep, reminded him of his brother.

He was quite confident the old wizard who was speaking had never even met Fred and even though he couldn't hear what he was saying he was annoyed by his presence. He watched as his two oldest brothers got up to speak in front of the congregation. He couldn't hear anything either said, but they looked solemn and serious. Percy got up to say a few words next, but he appeared too overcome with grief to continue. Ron remembered how brief his reunion with Fred had been. He didn't envy the feeling of regret Percy must now have of all the years he had wasted. Bill helped escort Percy back down the aisle and Ron could see people look around as if awaiting another Weasley brother to come up and speak. The conspicuous absence of the two youngest brothers was quickly absolved by Lee Jordan who, with his two newly mended arms, rose to his feet and made the crowd chuckle on more than one occasion. Professor McGonagall came then and Ron was curious what the Headmistress could possibly have to say about a student who concentrated more on pulling pranks than studying.

Ron thought the whole thing seemed false. It was like when Harry would tell him he had done well at Quidditch practice when he knew he'd done terribly. Fred wasn't the kind of person you could summarize in a brief speech or even one of Lee's funny stories. Fred Weasley was just Fred Weasley.

Was.

The word echoed in Ron's head the same way it had when all the visitors had stopped by and shared stories about his brother three days ago. Fred was a story now. That was all.

He watched as each of his family members approached the coffin. Bill was the first to come up and touch the top of the pine box. Percy lay a Gryffindor tie atop it and Ginny Fred's Beaters bat, before she turned away to bury her head into Harry's shoulder. Ron could see, even from his faraway spot atop the hill, that despite her apparent composure as she approached the coffin, Hermione was crying just like Ginny was. He watched her touch the coffin briefly with her fingers and turn away sharply. His eyes followed her as she returned to her chair and he saw her wipe away tears with the back of her hand.

Everybody shuffled slowly toward the pine box one at a time. Several, like Percy and Ginny, left items atop of it to rest with Fred. Most of them were products from Weasley Wizard Wheezes, but he saw Angelina Johnson place what looked to be a piece of jewelry atop the coffin. Ron wondered if perhaps it was something Fred had given her.

His parents were last. His mum was openly weeping and making no effort to hide. Ron couldn't help but remember his conversation with his dad that morning about his mum and her brothers. Anger rose up inside him then, anger not toward his mother, but to the people that had taken so much from her. It wasn't fair. His mum didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to lose her brothers and her son. His family didn't deserve this. Fred didn't deserve this.

The old wizard delivered a few final words then that seemed to reduce nearly everyone to tears and then he began magically lowering Fred's coffin into the earth. There was no great burst of flame like at Dumbledore's funeral. No hail of arrows or serenade from the merpeople. Just the plain wooden box slowly sinking into the ground.

He heard a sniffle beside him and he knew George was crying, but he couldn't make himself look. George had never wept before him in his life. The very foreign sound grew louder the lower the coffin went into the ground. Ron felt the familiar stinging in his nose that came when he tried to fight away tears. Something told him now was the moment to release it all, but just like he had refused to last night in front of Hermione, he would not allow himself to come undone beside his brother.

Slowly, the party of mourners left the gravesite and shuffled along to the Weasley household to eat up the Diggory ham and drink the butterbeer and all the other foods that had tempted Ron over the course of the week. Ron and George simply sat atop the hill staring at the hole in the ground, which quickly filled with dirt after a magical flick of the tufty-haired wizard's wand. The morning sun was high in the sky and the buckthorn bush cast a tall shadow across the spot, but neither made an attempt to move. Soon all that remained was a fresh mound of earth that their brother now lay beneath.

Fred was in the ground.

Ron felt like retching again.

He tried to picture his brother inside the wooden box beneath all that dirt. He still didn't know what outfit his parents had chosen to bury him in. For some reason Ron pictured him in his Quidditch uniform, his Beater bat still clutched in his hand. That's how he remembered his big brother. Starting Beater for four years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, someone he looked up to and envied for most of his life, someone he was so proud to call his brother, someone he admired. He was a fighter until the end.

The end.

Ron stared hard at the mound of dirt. This really was the end. His brother wasn't simply "gone", he was dead. Dead like Dumbledore, dead like Dobby, dead like Sirius Black. Dead the same way Jack Sloper had been when Ron had stared at him that morning after the battle. He was a corpse like all the other corpses he'd walked by in the Great Hall, a carcass now lying there beneath the ground.

Ron had never thought much on death before. Considering how many people had died in his time at Hogwarts, it was surprising he'd never really reflected on the matter much. He hadn't been there for Cedric's death though, he'd only heard about it and seen the body, and Harry said Sirius had just floated behind a veil. When Dumbledore had been killed, he'd been angrier at Snape's apparent betrayal than he was sad at Dumbledore's passing. Then Mad-Eye and Dobby had fallen this year and he heard about so many disappearances on the Wireless that he'd become almost immune to it. But then the world ripped his brother away and for the first time he wanted to know what happened after you died.

He figured there were really two options out there. The first is that this was it. There was no life afterwards, no hope for anything more. You were just dead and became worm food. The other was that there was something else. You died, but your soul somehow moved on. That's what everyone said to him when they tried to comfort him. They talked about death like it was a best friend to be welcomed, something to be happy about because somehow the dead really kept on living. But that was just dumb because Ron knew they were dead and death wasn't a best friend. Death tore people apart. He'd never see his brother again.

Harry told him not long ago his parents' headstone said something about how death was the one enemy they had to defeat. He hadn't understood at the time, but it made sense the more Ron thought about it. Death was really the only certain thing in all their lives. It was one thing they all had in common. They would all die one day. His parents would die, Harry would die, Hermione would die, he would die. And then what happened? Did your soul just float around and check in on people? Could you still see the people you loved? What if he died before Harry and Hermione? Could he come back and see them and make sure they were fine without him? Could Fred come and see that they were all right? Where was Fred? Was he still there underneath all that dirt? Or was he floating up above somewhere watching them all, laughing at them? This was the question he most desperately wanted to know. If he was floating around somewhere, if people were right and his soul was still alive, could he call him back?

Slowly, Ron rose to his feet, hoping his brother would choose to do so as well so they no longer had to stare at the mound of earth, but George made no effort to get up. Ron wanted to say something, but everything he said in his head just sounded too simple. He wanted to tell him he was here for him, that he understood why he hadn't gone to the funeral and why he didn't want to go back to the Burrow, but instead he simply dropped a hand onto his brother's shoulder and gave a supportive squeeze.

At first, George didn't react. He continued to stare out numbly as he had for the past hour, barely even recognising Ron's presence. But just as Ron loosened his grip, in preparation to depart, George reached backwards with his own hand and moved it on top of his brother's. He didn't say a word, but Ron knew he was asking him to stay. After five days of self-imposed solitude, he didn't want to be alone anymore.

Ron tightened his grip again in acknowledgement. He could hear George trying valiantly to keep himself from weeping openly again as Ron stood over him. The sound of him stifling back the cries in his throat haunted Ron, but he remained over him, protectively clutching his shoulder. Ron thought again about the Resurrection Stone. He thought about asking Harry where it was. Surely, he, of all people, would understand that he just wanted to say goodbye; that he and George needed to say goodbye. If he found it and he could just see his brother one last time that would be enough. Everybody today had said goodbye to a wooden box and a photograph. He needed more. He needed the Stone. George needed the Stone.

Ron's knees soon ached from standing there. At one point he almost felt like he was going to pass out he felt like he had been standing so long, but as long as George kept his hand on top of his he remained. He didn't know how much time passed, but the shadows grew longer. Finally, after what felt like hours, George released his hand, rose to his feet and dusted off his trousers.

"He'd hate all this, you know?" he finally cleared his throat and spoke. "Everyone crying over him, he'd hate it."

"You're probably right."

"Oh, I know I'm right," George stated matter-of-factly and gave a crooked grin. He slowly began to climb down the hill. "And those dancing lilies?" he scoffed.

"I know."

"He'd want fireworks or something."

"Probably," Ron murmured, falling in line beside him. "Reckon anyone's pissed yet?" He made a lame attempt to talk about something aside from their dead brother, the funeral they'd just witnessed, or the fact that he'd just seen George cry.

"Wouldn't be a Weasley family gathering if not," George laughed weakly. "I heard you filled in Uncle Bilius' shoes last night." George grinned, the news seeming to make him immensely happy. "On Muggle spirits, no less."

"Yeah, Charlie took me out. Felt like rubbish this morning."

"You should have come to me," George grinned. "Fred and I made an antidote that helps with the after effects. We call it Hair of the Dragon."

"But dragons don't have hair," Ron pointed out stupidly.

"It's just a name, Ron," George scowled. "Comes from an old Muggle saying we got from one of dad's books."

There was a long pause and Ron tried not to let the conversation die as they continued to pick their way down the hill.

"Did you know dad and Uncle Bilius got loaded on Greenfairy when they were at Hogwarts?" He wasn't sure why he'd chosen to share the random story from his dad's childhood. He just knew he wanted to keep talking.

"Greenfairy's illegal," George remarked just the same way Ron had when he'd heard the story from his dad.

"Apparently not when they went to school."

"I had no idea dad had it in him," George looked floored at the revelation and quite pleased with his father. "How'd you find out?"

"He was telling me all about it. I went out to see him in the garage this morning. He was saying all kinds of things."

"Like what?"

"Oh, mostly stuff about me and Hermione. It was fucking awful," Ron groaned as he recalled the conversation.

"He didn't try to have 'the talk' with you, did he?" George managed another laugh. "Poor old dad. He tried to have that talk with me and Fred back in fourth year. Didn't go well for either party."

"How come he had this talk with everyone but me until now?" Ron, feeling rather indignant, recalled Charlie's confession about having had a similar talk with his dad.

"Reckon he never thought you'd find a girl crazy enough to want to shag you."

"Sod off!" Ron shoved George in the arm playfully.

"Fred and I had a bet, you know," George grinned as they drew closer to the Burrow.

"Oh, I heard all about your effing bet."

"We couldn't believe how daft you were," George grinned. "We were embarrassed for the good name of Weasley. Especially that whole mess fourth year with the Yule Ball!"

"She was snogging an international Quidditch star, what was I supposed to do?" For the first time in his life, Ron managed to laugh at the mention of Krum. George just sighed and gave an incredulous shake of the head in reply.

"And I hear that was quite the cock up last year with you and Lav-Lav." Ron was silent as his brother continued to list his blunders. "Now you've done a nice job at getting mum all hacked off, I notice."

"What? About the Australia thing?" Ron looked down at the path before them in embarrassment.

"Yeah."

"It's all right now, I think." He recalled the calm conversation yesterday at breakfast about the Portkeys. His mum still didn't seem to love the idea of he and Hermione trekking across the globe, but she certainly seemed to be more accepting of the fact that he was an adult and could make these decisions without their approval.

His mind suddenly turned to the six Portkeys his dad said they'd have to catch and the possible countries they might travel to. He couldn't wait to get out of the Burrow and leave all this behind for a few days. He turned to George. A couple of days away from their family, away from the Burrow and England and everything that reminded him of Fred was exactly what he needed. "You should go."

"Go where, to Australia?" George laughed. "No thanks. I wouldn't want to crash the honeymoon."

"It's no honeymoon!" Ron turned a furious shade of scarlet, unable to shake the fact that Charlie then his father and now George had all married him and Hermione off already after just five days. "We're going to fetch her parents."

"Right, I gotcha, it's just a business errand." George winked at him.

"That's not what – I mean, I'm not saying – it's just - "

"Come on, we all know you two'll be shacking up in some chateau in the south of France first chance you get. That's why mum doesn't want you to go!"

"We're fetching her parents."

"You're going to shag her brains out," George maintained with a grin. Ron didn't even have the strength to bother protesting. He knew any of his attempts to deny the statement would only be met with more harassment and prodding. Despite the wanderings of his mind that morning in the shower, Ron genuinely couldn't see anything further from the truth than what George was suggesting. Sure, he and Hermione shut themselves up in his room for hours at a time, but she never even did so much as take her shoes off. His hands, no matter how much he'd thought about it, hadn't strayed below the belt. Shagging her brains out seemed about the least likely thing to happen on their trip.

He was just glad his brother was joking again though so he played along.

"Try not to sound so jealous, George, it doesn't suit you." He recalled the best way to deal with his brothers' harassment was to dish it out in turn. George just grinned, looking impressed at Ron's rebuttal.

"You know the charms, right?" He seemed a bit more serious despite the way he laughed when he asked the question. Ron thought about the uncomfortable conversations he'd already had with Charlie and his dad about the infamous charms. He considered brushing George off the same way he had them.

"Er – I mean – yeah, you told me them last year."

"But you know how to do them?"

"Well, no," Ron admitted.

"You mean you and Lavender never…"

"No." He figured the moment he confessed to his brother he'd never had sex would be mortifying. They didn't have many heart-to-hearts. He'd never been close to the twins like that. Mostly, all they did was take the piss. He figured admitting he was a virgin would just invite merciless teasing. Talking to George now felt somehow natural though.

"Ginny reckoned you had." George's eyebrows were raised in surprise.

"We got close," Ron felt strangely relieved to confess what he'd never even talked to Harry about. "I mean, I think she wanted to, but by then I was kind of desperate to be shot of her."

"Sex is sex." George gave a cavalier shrug and looked at Ron dubiously.

"I just – I didn't - " Ron stammered over an explanation for why he'd passed up the opportunity, but George spoke before he could.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" He grinned knowingly as they picked their way through the tuffetts of grass. "Hermione, I mean." George said it more as a statement than a question and Ron was silent. He didn't even know what it meant to love someone like that. He just knew he wanted to be with Hermione all the time in a way he'd never wanted to be with anyone. Did that mean being in love? Was it possible he'd been in love with her as long as George was suggesting? "You passed up sex because you wanted to save yourself for her!" George cackled then, as if reading Ron's own thoughts.

"Piss off!" He shoved his brother so hard he staggered to the left and almost stepped in a rabbit hole.

"Never figured you for such a romantic!" George snorted with laughter. Ron didn't bother trying to explain why he hadn't shagged Lavender when he had the chance. He'd felt wrong about it all by then, about snogging her one minute and avoiding her every bleeding minute the next. He felt suddenly shameful as he thought about the things Lavender had done with him in dark empty classrooms.

"It felt wrong," he finally spoke.

"You ought to have done it." George shook his head in disagreement. "Now you'll be rubbish your first time with Hermione. You'll cum the minute you're inside her." He continued to tease. Ron felt his face grow hot at the graphic way George was talking, not to mention the mere thought of actually being inside Hermione. He knew George was probably right; he would be rubbish. He was tempted for a moment to ask his big brother what sex was really like, but he wasn't sure he could handle any more ribbing. "They're really easy, the charms." George spoke then, and the teasing tone was suddenly gone from his voice.

"Dad said they're tricky." Ron recalled the conversation that morning.

"Maybe the first couple times. You definitely ought to practice them first. Don't want to end up turning your cock yellow or something," George snorted with laughter.

"When do you…I mean how early do you have to do them?" Ron couldn't help but inquire curiously.

"You don't have to, y'know, stop things if that's what you mean. You can do them way before. They last a couple hours."

"So after a couple hours you have to do them again?"

"I think lasting a couple hours is about the last thing you have to worry about," George smirked.

"Piss off." Ron just pushed him again. George staggered forward at the weight of the shove and suddenly they were in the garden. They both went silent. The jokes and banter about Ron's love life immediately fell away. It had been a nice distraction while they were walking. Ron had even forgotten the way George had been crying atop the hill. He had known, of course, they were walking to the Burrow this whole time. Being here finally still filled him with dread though.

"What did you really mean before?" George asked then, finally breaking the silence. "About me going with you and Hermione?"

"I didn't mean I want you to come with us."

"Of course you didn't," George grinned.

"I just meant that you ought to get out for a couple of days, that's all. Get away from here."

"Why would I want to get away from here?" George screwed up his face, looking toward the Burrow with an odd smile. The response made Ron feel guilty for apparently being the only person who wanted to flee. He had thought George, at least, would understand. George seemed to sense something else at work in his brain and fortunately chose not to dwell on it. "Thanks for the sandwich yesterday," he remarked then, slowly moving toward the back door. The noise from inside grew louder with each step. "It really wasn't all that bad."

"It was the best I could do. Mum was saving everything for the – well - for today."

"Right."

"I am pretty hungry." Ron recalled all he'd really eaten in the past twenty-four hours had been at the River Otter Pub and he took a brave step toward the door.

He looked through an open window, trying to make out silhouettes and the backs of people's head. He knew all that would greet him were condolences and hugs from people he'd only met once in his life. He knew once he went inside, he couldn't run away. Looking to George, he took in a deep breath.

"Fireworks, right?" Ron recalled his brother's words back atop the hill. George just grinned and Ron tried to pretend like he wasn't looking at Fred when he smiled back at him.

"Fireworks."


	17. Chapter 17

The sitting room went silent as Ron and George swung open the door. It was more crowded than it had been for his brother's wedding. He detected the familiar flaming red mops of the extended Weasley clan and he saw a smattering of family friends and neighbors. The Prewetts were there and the Diggorys, who Ron now sadly realised had more in common with his parents than either would ever wish. He saw many of his dad's coworkers as well. Even the Minister of Magic was there. Really, the room looked like more of a Ministry function than a family gathering.

Everybody, strangers and non-strangers alike, halted their conversations and stared at the two brothers with ashen faces, almost like they were looking at ghosts. Amid the mass of people, it was Percy who Ron's eyes found first. He looked awful, paler than usual, with an almost greenish tint as he ate a piece of pie in the corner. Ron could see little of the brother he remembered in the miserable curly-haired man. Though the room looked to be full of high-ranking Ministry employees, including the Minister of Magic himself, Ron noticed Percy stood by himself. It wasn't Percy the Prefect or Percy the Head Boy or even Percy Junior Undersecretary to the Minister. It was Percy the brother. Ron recalled the way Bill had had to help him back to his seat after he tried to speak at the funeral. Bill and Charlie really had been the rocks for his family this week.

He could see them scattered about the room. Bill and Fleur were deep in conversation with Professor McGonagall in her stately emerald robes and Charlie was difficult to miss as he was standing beside Hagrid and another hairy man Ron didn't recognise with long bushy sideburns.

"Say something, Ron." George prodded him, uncomfortable at the sudden silence and many pairs of eyes fixed on them.

"Say what?" Ron muttered back from behind tightly pursed lips.

"Anything. You're the celebrity." The words reminded Ron of the page three spread in yesterday's Daily Prophet and he suddenly realised that might be why so many people were staring.

"What's going on?" His mum came hurrying out from the other side of the staircase, clearly puzzled by the sudden silence and unaware that her two youngest sons had appeared.

For a moment she simply stood and stared at them, both dressed smartly with neatly combed hair. She seemed to sense by looking at them that they had both at least tried. Ron knew, after his conversation with his father that morning that if anyone realised why they hadn't attended it would be his mum. He wondered if she'd gone to her own brothers' funerals. Unable to muster up any words, Ron gave a weak shrug of the shoulders in greeting. Her eyes quickly began welling with tears as she drank in the sight of her two youngest sons standing there together. The crowd parted as she walked briskly to the front door and threw her arms around them both.

"My boys!" Her words were muffled into George's shoulder. "Oh, my boys!" Gripping them tightly in an awkward embrace, she repeated the words over and over.

"We're all right, mum," Ron muttered sheepishly, rubbing her back in assurance.

"You're all right," she repeated as if for confirmation. The words were muffled into his arm, but Ron could tell that she was still crying.

"We're all right." He murmured while she smoothed down the hair on George's head.

"We're all right." She repeated the phrase, still gripping them both tightly. Ron sensed she was talking about their whole family as she said the words, not just the two of them. When she finally broke apart, he saw his dad was beside her with a handkerchief to wipe away her tears.

"I told you they'd be okay." His dad smiled at him and George then, in an understanding manner that told Ron he was somehow forgiven for missing the funeral. It was all right. He'd been with George.

"I know, I know." She dabbed at her eyes and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Well, come in and get something to eat!" She ushered them into the kitchen then where every available surface was holding a home-cooked dish visitors had brought. It reminded Ron of the Great Feast at the start of term at Hogwarts. There was the ham from the Diggorys and roast chicken and mutton and all kinds of jellies. He saw bacon cakes and Cornish pasties and every kind of pie he could think of.

"George, there's brandy snaps and Luna even brought by roly-poly, Ron. She said she knew you liked it."

"Brilliant," Ron murmured as he shuffled toward the kitchen with his mum. At the mention of Luna, his eyes scanned the crowd in the other half of the room behind the staircase for her and his sister, for Harry and Hermione, and anyone under the age of twenty, but it looked to be all adults. Ron tried to contain his disappointment while his mum went about fixing them both plates. She looked up every now and again, seeming to grow teary each time she did. He couldn't imagine what her reaction had been when neither of them had shown up that morning. He knew he should have been there for his mum, like Charlie and Bill were, and he felt a wave of guilt suddenly course through him.

Yet as he looked to his right he realised if he'd gone to the funeral, he wouldn't have been there for his brother. George would have been alone atop that hill, crying by himself as he watched his twin get buried. He wasn't sure what to feel. He hadn't let George down, but he'd certainly failed the rest of his family, not to mention Harry and Hermione. He recalled Harry's words to be there for Ginny and the way Hermione had implored him to stay with her. He wasn't sure if he'd fucked up again.

"Here you are." Four plates piled high, two with roast meats and gravy and vegetables and two others with every kind of pudding in the room, quickly hovered in the air in front of them, but Ron found he had quite suddenly lost his appetite.

"Thanks, mum." He took a plate in each hand anyway and stood there uncomfortably. The entire room seemed to still be staring at them.

"You want anything else, Georgie?" She straightened out George's collar and smoothed Ron's hair down in the front, fussing over them both in a manner she usually reserved for her only daughter.

"No, this is great, mum." George offered a bright smile and it seemed to give his mum strength somehow. She straightened up a bit and offered the same bright smile, this time with no tears in her eye. She looked like she'd just taken a bit of Pepper-Up Potion or been the recipient of a Cheering Charm, so strong was the effect of George's smile. His father's hand clapped down on his and George's shoulders then. He smiled despite the tired lines in his face and for the first time, Ron realised his dad's hair was nearly grey. Had it been like that all year? Had it even been that grey hours ago when they'd talked in the garage? Ron wondered if it was possible for hair to go grey in a single morning.

"Sorry we weren't – I mean – this morning – I – I - " he stumbled uncomfortably over an explanation for why he hadn't been there with them all this morning.

"You're here now." His father squeezed his shoulder just like Ron had to George atop the hill. "You both are. That's all that matters."

"I tried," Ron confessed then. "I got dressed. I just - "

"I know." His dad's grip tightened. "Hermione told us."

Ron tried not to imagine the faces of his mum and dad as she told them the news that he wasn't coming. Perhaps they'd expected it. They didn't seem angry or disappointed with him or George. The mention of Hermione made Ron even more eager to find her, but for the first time all week he didn't immediately give in to the urge to run to her. He could feel his father's weight, quite literally, resting on him.

"Who's that bloke talking to Charlie?" Ron inquired suddenly, eager to steer the conversation away from his desertion this morning. He looked across the room to his brother and the bushy sideburned man.

"That's Jameson Fitch. He works with Amos Diggory."

Ron wanted to ask why a coworker of Amos Diggory's was at his brother's funeral, but he swallowed the words, trying to display a bit of tact, like Hermione always told him he should.

"Nice of him to come," he replied instead.

"Yes, he's been picking up the slack for me a bit at work. The Ministry has been great this week. So much to do to get back on our feet and so many people needing time off for…for family." He swallowed and took in a deep breath. "Everybody's really pitching in, interdepartmental cooperation, you know? Working together and helping each other."

"That's great," Ron mumbled. As he looked around the sitting room, he suddenly realised all the nameless faces and people he didn't recognise weren't really there for Fred. They were there for his parents.

"And the Portkeys! They've been so wonderful setting up Portkeys for you and Hermione, Ron. I ought to introduce you to Harold Hargreaves. He helped out tremendously with the one through India. George you'd like him too! Quite the joker. Now where did he get to?" Dad looked out in the crowd. "Harold, eh Harold? Come on over here and meet my sons!" He bellowed across the room before Ron could offer any protest. Not that he would have said anything really. His dad seemed to need this, Ron could tell, and as long as they were talking about Portkeys and Ministry business he was fine. George crept away before the old balding wizard could reach them, giving Ron a mischievous smile at his success in avoiding what promised to be a boring and likely uncomfortable meeting.

"So this is the famous Ron!" Harold Hargreaves had a surprisingly strong handshake as he gripped Ron's hand tightly and pumped it up and down. He was very fat and his dress robes looked entirely too tight to be comfortable, but he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Er – yeah - hi," Ron greeted uncomfortably, unsure what to make of somebody calling him famous. He wondered if Harold Hargreaves had read page three of the Prophet.

"Heard a lot about you now, haven't I? Special services to the school years ago? Prefect and Gryffindor Keeper? Heard you even earned seven OWLs !"

"Yeah," Ron muttered sheepishly, somehow embarrassed at having a stranger list his accomplishments. When he dared glance up, he saw his father beaming at him.

"Of course, that's not even counting what you were up to this year. I knew you weren't home with Spattergroit. Your dad was a great old liar, but I knew it, didn't I, eh? I knew you were helping Harry Potter." Ron gave an uncomfortable smile to the jovial man. "Now I hear you're escorting your lady to Australia." Ron felt his ears burn at the reference to Hermione as 'his lady'. "Quite an extraordinary witch, I'm told. Your brother Bill said she could put me out of a job!" Ron was unsure what to say in reply. He wasn't even sure what Harold Hargreaves did at the Ministry.

"She's a remarkable witch, Harold! Absolutely remarkable," his dad piped in then. He looked oddly proud, almost, Ron thought, like he was talking about one of his own children. "She could probably put most of the Ministry out of a job, even Kingsley!" Ron felt a wonderful feeling of pride swell in his chest at the compliment to Hermione. "She and Ron have been friends ever since their very first year at Hogwarts." Still the proud look remained on his face.

"But it took a bit of danger to get you together, eh? I'm not surprised! Saw the same thing the last time. People getting married left and right." Harold Hargreaves waved his hands about. Ron shifted his weight uncomfortably at the mention of marriage. "Sounds like you ought to put a ring on this one quick if she's as remarkable as your dad says."

"Oh, lay off him will you, Harold?" his dad laughed then, coming to Ron's rescue. "You'll have to forgive him, Ron. His wife writes the wedding announcements in the Prophet."

"Oh, don't tell me you and Molly aren't hoping for a wedding! That would be front-page news, that would. Harry Potter's two best friends getting hitched! Where is Harry Potter by the way? I heard he was at the ceremony."

Ron was sorely tempted to offer to go find Harry himself and escape this horribly uncomfortable conversation, but he felt a duty to stay with his dad, who seemed to smile every time Harold Hargreaves mentioned him.

"We're just happy he's happy." He beamed at Ron, as if on cue.

"Do you – er – do you know where Harry and Hermione are, dad?" Ron inquired innocently then, eager just to know where she was.

"Harry is with your sister and Hermione was with Fleur helping your mum earlier and I think I saw her talking with Professor McGonagall for a spell, but they all disappeared about an hour ago."

Ron was about to inquire who 'they all' meant and where they had disappeared to, but another coworker of his father's came charging over then. As his dad quickly fell into conversation with the two men, Ron used the opportunity to find Charlie, whom he hadn't seen since last night and was anxious to make amends with. He tried to ignore the many pairs of eyes on him as he walked across the sitting room with both hands clutching a plate. Several people looked like they wanted to talk to him, but thankfully nobody bothered him while he walked to his brother.

George and Charlie stopped talking almost as soon as Ron reached them. For a moment nobody said anything. Ron desperately hoped George would break the silence and cut a joke, but he was oddly silent. Ron wondered if perhaps Charlie had caught him up to speed on last night's incident. George obviously knew about the liquor, but Ron wasn't sure if he knew about the fight. Charlie had gotten rid of the purple knot above his eye, apparently not holding the same scruples about when to use magic as Hermione. Ron instinctively reached up to touch his fat lip as he looked at Charlie's clean face.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Charlie spoke first, an apologetic smile on his face.

"S'alright. I reckon I deserved it," Ron muttered in humiliation.

"A bit, yeah." The warm smile remained on his brother's face

"I feel like a complete prat."

"Well, that's 'cause you were." Still Charlie kept smiling.

"I don't remember half of what I said."

"Believe me, that's a good thing. You were going on about Hermione smelling like an ice cream cone."

George burst out laughing at the comment, his laughter so loud several people looked their way. Ron felt his face flush for the second time that day regarding his drunken ramblings.

"And you also had a go at me for being so far away this year - "

"I didn't mean - "

"- and there was some truth to what you said," Charlie continued.

"No, I was bang out of order," Ron insisted shamefully.

"I could stand to come home more often."

"You're doing what you love."

"I love my family." The simple statement silenced anything more Ron had been about to say. He was accustomed to such vocal displays of affection from his mother, but he did not expect it from Charlie. Ron could hear rowdy noises sound from upstairs then and he turned his eyes upward.

"Yes, they're all up in Ginny's room," Charlie informed, upon seeing their curious glances through the floorboards. "I expect they'll be glad to see you."

"How is Ginny?" Ron asked, feeling suddenly guilty as he recalled Harry's bequest that he stay with her today.

"Worried about you both," Charlie admitted. "She'll be glad to see you."

"You think we should – I mean is it all right to go upstairs?" Ron looked around the room at his mother and father and poor Percy, who was now joined by Bill and Fleur in the corner. For the first time all week, he felt a strange sort of obligation to stay down here with the rest of his family, not run upstairs with Hermione. Staying here was an unpleasant prospect for sure. He'd much rather be with Hermione, but when he recalled the way his mum had hugged him and the way his dad's face had lit up talking about him, he felt a strong sense of duty. He could help. He should help. He should stay down here.

"Upstairs it feels a bit more like Fred." Charlie gave a wistful smile then.

"But - "

"We'll be all right." Charlie looked across the room to his family while he spoke the words. "You both should be upstairs."

The assurance was all George seemed to need. He started walking toward the steps before Ron did. The noise, a cacophony of music, shouting, and laughter coming from behind Ginny's closed bedroom door grew louder the closer they got. Ron pushed it open and was thoroughly surprised to see most of Gryffindor tower and what felt like half the school packed into Ginny's tiny bedroom. Ron realised this is what his dad had meant when he had said they all disappeared. This is where everybody who had known George, really known him, was.

The old wireless that was usually downstairs had been moved here and was playing music that echoed throughout the space. Bottles of Butterbeer and Knotgrass Mead lined the room and there was an open bottle of Red Currant Rum that people looked to be mixing with several glasses of Gillywater. A drunken game of cards with an Exploding Snap deck was going on beside it. It looked very much like a slightly older and more mature Quidditch celebration in Gryffindor tower, save for the fact that Ron couldn't quite figure out what they were celebrating.

Much like the room downstairs, the festivities halted quite suddenly as soon as they caught sight of Ron and George in the doorway. Ron's eyes locked first on his sister. She was standing at the back wall with Harry, of course, and several of her old Quidditch teammates. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks unnaturally red. He didn't say anything; he just looked at her, trying to show her with a simple head nod that he was here now. He was trying. His presence there with George seemed to acknowledge that he had been with his brother and when he gave a half-hearted shrug she just nodded her head back in, what Ron hoped was, understanding.

"Don't stop on account of us." George broke the uncomfortable silence with a laugh just as Lee Jordan came barreling through the crowd to them. He charged toward George and they embraced in a hug so fierce it made even Ron turn away. He recalled that the two hadn't seen each other since dueling Yaxley in the Great Hall. When they finally broke apart, Lee just gave Ron a thump on the back and handed both he and George large dark bottles of Knotgrass Mead. He had never tasted the honey wine before, but he'd seen several bottles in Hagrid's hut. Though he was curious to try it, he could still feel the effects of his last encounter with alcohol so instead of taking part in a toast with Lee and George, he just raised the bottle while scanning the room for Hermione.

She was seated on her camp bed in the corner along with Angelina Johnson and a glass of the same red substance the Exploding Snap players were drinking. Her eyes looked puffy and her cheeks splotchy like they had after Dumbledore's funeral. Though she was still talking to Angelina, her eyes were clearly fixed on him. His path to her was blocked by countless Gryffindors, all wanting to talk to him however. Oliver Wood wanted to talk about retiring Fred's number and getting his photo up in the Quidditch trophy case. Kenneth Towler, a heavyset boy in Fred's year told him how much he had envied Fred's confidence. Seamus wanted to tell him how much he'd looked up to him.

Ron was reminded again of his miserable Quidditch practices fifth year and Harry's loyal defense of his poor keeping skills. Wood would never recommend retiring Fred's number if he hadn't died. Kenneth Towler had never said a word to him his entire life. Seamus would never tell Ron things like that if they weren't where they were. His eyes looked straight through Seamus to Hermione, who was still in conversation with Angelina and eyeing him every few seconds. Seamus glanced over his shoulder and, catching sight of Hermione, seemed to take the hint. He raised his eyebrows, grinned at Ron and quietly slunk away.

Ron walked closer to the camp bed so he could hear Hermione and Angelina's conversation better. They were talking, of all things, about N.E.W.T.S, which made Ron smile to himself.

"I thought the Examinations Authority fifth year was absolutely dreadful. The Protean charm really should be assessed."

"Are you actually complaining that the test wasn't harder?"

"I just think it ought to be on there."

"You know you'll get top marks regardless."

"I tried to tell her you get points just for showing up and having a wand, but she didn't believe me," Ron joined the conversation suddenly. He plopped down the plate of trifle and roly poly still in his hand.

Angelina looked back and forth between him and Hermione. Like Seamus, she seemed to detect the heavy air between them and quickly excused herself. She paused as she passed by Ron though, opening up her mouth like she was going to say something. Ron looked to her expectantly, waiting for her to speak. Her mouth hung open, but no sounds emerged. Like both Hermione and Ginny, her eyes were bloodshot and showed evidence that many tears had been shed before this celebration began. He knew Fred and Angelina had done more than just go to the Yule Ball together, but he was never quite sure what the extent of their relationship had been.

"He was so proud of you," she finally whispered, taking hold of his arm and steadying herself.

"Right," Ron acknowledged awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. He swallowed the large lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. His brother had been proud of him. Ron tried to turn over in his head what exactly that even meant. Proud of him for what? For being Gryffindor keeper? For following Harry? For almost getting himself killed? Angelina held his gaze for a moment, her fingers still grasped around his arm.

"You know, he talked about you all the time." She managed a grin and then glanced past his shoulder to Hermione, who was now attempting to focus her gaze elsewhere. "And he always said he reckoned she was the best thing that could ever happen to you if you ever got the stones to make a move."

"Fred said that?" Ron gaped at Angelina, who just nodded her head and smiled before releasing him and returning to the party.

Ron looked back to Hermione, wondering if she had heard the confession. He hated that Fred never got to see him finally be with her. He hated that he'd never get to hear Fred tease him about snogging her up in his room or take the piss the way George had out in the garden. He hated that he had to hear his brother's words through Angelina and that every sentence began with the words 'would have'. His gaze fixed on Hermione, the best thing that could ever happen to him according to his brother, and he plopped down on the bed beside her. Though her eyes had been locked on him since he'd set foot in Ginny's room, she now turned them away from him, focusing instead on the fizzy red liquid on the table beside her.

"I'd think after my performance last night you'd be avoiding any kind of spirit." He looked to the glass, hoping she would see that he was attempting to make fun of himself. It was the best he could do at an apology and admission of guilt for now.

"I could say the same to you," she replied shortly and nodded toward the bottle of mead in his hand. "Lee insisted we all drink a toast to Fred," she explained then, sounding none too pleased at the idea. From the amount of liquid in the glass it looked like she had hardly touched the beverage.

"That explains the party then." Ron still looked surprised at how joyful the room was.

"He said he reckoned Fred would want a party for him."

"George said the same thing." Ron couldn't help but smile at just how well Lee knew his brothers.

"It seems a bit odd to me," Hermione admitted and wrinkled her nose. "Funerals are supposed to be for being sad. I just don't think it's proper." Hermione frowned and looked out to the center of the room where Lee was pouring George a glass of rum to match the bottle of mead in the other hand. "That's the last thing George needs."

"George'll be all right."

The words remained in the air for a moment and Ron thought she was about to ask if he was all right then. He thought perhaps she might shame him for leaving her that morning, yell at him for being abandoning his family, for abandoning her again. When the words came they weren't angry though. Her voice just sounded small and weak, defeated almost.

"I wish you'd been there," she stated sadly, finally focusing her eyes on him.

"I know," Ron mumbled and scratched the back of his head in uncomfortable recognition.

"Were you with George the whole time?"

"Mostly."

"What else were you doing?" she pressed.

"Just…walking," he murmured with a shrug. "Thinking."

"What were you thinking about?" she continued her inquiry. Her voice was soft and she wasn't prying, but with the question Ron knew the Hermione that had run away with him for the past week was gone.

"About Fred," he replied honestly. Perhaps the part of him that had hidden all week was gone too.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked simply.

"No." His reply was immediate and he could see the glum response disappointed her. "But thanks," he added sincerely.

"It was a nice funeral," she continued. "I think it would have helped you." Ron winced at the implication that he needed help, but remained silent. "It might help you realise…you're not the only one hurting." At the words, Ron was reminded of how Percy had come undone and the wailing sound of his mum's cries. He could offer no reply.

He felt the same turbulent mixture of emotions at her words as he had downstairs when his mum had started tearing up. Funerals were just supposed to be sad, like Hermione had said. He didn't want to feel this mixed up. He had abandoned Hermione and most of his family and he knew he'd fucked up, but he'd also been there for George, the person who needed him most. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to regret that. He wasn't sure why he didn't tell Hermione he had, in fact, gone to the funeral. He figured that fact didn't make up for the fact that he'd ignored her desperate pleas and left her on her own. Bollocks, he was a terrible boyfriend.

Still, she didn't seem eager to point that out. She didn't say anything to make him feel worse. Her disappointed look said it all. He desperately wanted to say something to explain, but couldn't form any words. He just turned his eyes back out to the mass of people packed into his sister's room and Hermione did the same. It wasn't just Gryffindors, Ron saw. Most of the remaining members of Dumbledore's Army were there and a smattering of students from other houses in Fred's year were also partaking in the celebration. Aside from a few who had red eyes and puffy cheeks, they all looked incredibly happy. Ron wondered how much of that was due to the alcohol.

Hermione laughed quietly as she looked uncomfortably out on the crowd and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You know, people have been asking me all morning when we happened."

"When what happened?"

"You know." The slight pink color in her cheeks indicated what she was referring to. "Us."

"Still talking about us, huh?" he laughed and leaned a bit closer to her then, grateful for the change in conversation. He knew this wasn't the end of it, of course. He'd abandoned her again and left her to cry by herself over Fred's coffin. Still, she didn't seem any more reluctant to dwell on it than he was. There wasn't much more to be said.

"I suspect they want to know if they won the bet or not. I didn't even know what to tell them."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked even though he was quite sure what she meant. Despite the fact that they'd first kissed mere days ago, he felt a bit like they'd been together all year.

He reckoned he'd never get tired of moments like these. They seemed to push everything else out of his mind. Not just thoughts about Fred and the mound of dirt behind the orchard, but the sad realisation that Anthony Goldstein should be standing there beside Terry Boot and Michael Corner. It was all just shit, the randomness that some people were here drinking Firewhiskey and others were in a box. That Parvati was smiling and laughing with Katie Bell and Lavender was wrapped in bandages and probably still in the Hospital Wing. All year, he'd imagined what life after Voldemort might be like and never had he thought about how many empty places there would be.

"I don't know," Hermione's voice brought him back. She was the only pleasant part of this new reality. "I suppose it was the other day in the Battle when I kissed you, but somehow that didn't seem like the truth."

"What else would you have said?" Ron was eager to hear what moment she might recall from the last year.

"I don't know, when you asked me to dance at Bill and Fleur's wedding." She reminded him of the night he'd secretly looked forward to all summer. "The first night in Grimmauld Place when you held my hand until I fell asleep, or when you stayed by my bed that night at Shell Cottage."

"I stayed by your bed a lot of nights," Ron confessed sheepishly.

"I know." The music and the conversation around them slowly seemed to melt away.

"Thank you for staying with me last night," he finally said the words he knew he should have hours ago. "I know I probably said some rotten things to you." He thought about how Charlie told him he should be glad he didn't remember anything.

"You weren't that bad."

"Don't do that." He frowned and shook his head. "Please."

"Do what?"

"Patronise me."

"That's not patronising - "

"It feels like it," he admitted. "I know I was pissed and I know I screwed up - "

"You didn't screw up."

" – and you telling me I didn't doesn't make me feel any better," Ron maintained from behind gritted teeth. "I don't remember what I said to you, but Charlie told me what I said to him and…I know I had a go at you too. I know I did."

"Ron - "

"And I know you were probably just trying to help and I know I was off my face and was an arse and…I know you stayed with me anyway." He lowered his head as he thought about this morning and how he'd left her so abruptly. "So thanks."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay. You're welcome," she stated simply.

"You're not going to call me an insensitive wart or tell me off for drinking all day?" Ron frowned.

"Do you want me to?"

"Dunno really. I think I might need to hear it a time or two." He raised the corners of his mouth slightly. "Just to remind myself it's still you."

"Well, you were a complete prat last night," Hermione laughed. "How's that?"

"Better." Ron grinned at her. He was awed at how supportive she was being of him, how supportive she'd been all week, even when he knew he was at his worst. "You're amazing, you know that?" He moved a hand up to her cheek then and leaned forward to kiss her softly. This was easier than an apology. This he couldn't mess up. His lips lingered on hers only for a brief moment however before the room quickly began whooping and hollering at the sudden display of affection.

"Who won the bet?" A voice cried out.

Hermione blushed and hid her face against Ron's shoulder. He gave a sheepish grin and wrapped an arm around her as they both rose to her feet, her face still buried against him.

"Weasley and Granger!"

"Finally an item!"

"Never thought I'd see the day!" Lee picked up his ribbing right where he'd left off in the hospital wing days ago.

"Yeah, yeah." Ron rolled his eyes, but continued to squeeze Hermione against him. This felt surprisingly good. Standing up in the Great Hall with her hand in his had been one thing, but holding Hermione against him like he was now was quite another. For a moment he could almost forget the reason all these people were all at the Burrow in the first place. They laughed and talked and the whole time Ron had Hermione next to him and everyone could see that she was his. He could do without the constant reminiscing and shared memories of Fred, but with Hermione beside him he was able to make it through. He could smile with Ginny, even make her laugh, even if it was usually at his expense. He was there for his sister though, like he realised he hadn't been all week. She seemed to delight in just having him and George beside her, frequently throwing her arms around them both and drawing them to her in a hug.

People came and went all afternoon. Charlie and Bill came up for a spell and even Hagrid poked his head in and led a toast. Harry and Ginny, Angelina, Katie, George and Lee were the only ones who still remained by the time evening set in. Percy had joined them from downstairs and they were playing a game of cards and swapping stories on the floor. Ron took the opportunity to take a moment from the toasts and the hugs to stretch out on the tiny camp bed. His long limbs nearly dangled over the edge as he let out a deep sigh. He had almost made it through the day. He wondered what life would be like tomorrow without the funeral hanging over him.

"You think there's room for two?" Hermione's voice sounded suddenly from over him.

"Er…sure." Ron did little to attempt to disguise the surprise in his voice. They laid together on the bed all the time in the privacy of his room, but he was shocked Hermione would initiate something so intimate with so many people around. He tried to look at ease as she curled her body up around him and even more when she rested her head on his chest. The tiny action still caused his heart to rattle behind his ribcage, just like the first time up in Gryffindor tower. He wondered if Hermione had been to any other funerals besides Dumbledore's either. She seemed sad, much sadder than he expected her to be. All week long she'd been so solid. Now when she curled her fingers around his shirt and rested her ear atop his heart, listening to its rhythmic thump, it was almost like she needed the closeness too. He felt himself relax, in a way he hadn't all day and moved a hand around her back.

"You cannot stay in here, Ron," Ginny called to the pair, who rapidly appeared to be falling asleep together. "Don't get any ideas."

"Oi! Am I glad they waited this long to get on! I couldn't have handled seeing that every day in the common room!" George teased and pretended to vomit. Ron remained silent and offered nothing more than a rude hand gesture to the group that was poking fun at their expense. Hermione gave an embarrassed smile, but made no effort to move.

Truth was lying like this on the camp bed made Ron think about his conversation with George and the charms he still had to learn. The thought of nearly a week together just like this made his head spin. He thought about yesterday afternoon up in his room and the way her hips had actually arched toward him, seeming to be craving the contact. He thought about the way she'd run her hands all over him and her breathy and flustered voice when she'd broken away to compose herself. Perhaps what George had teased him about wasn't that far from the truth. Perhaps he really should stop by his room later to learn the charms. She clung to him right now in a way that indicated she didn't want him to get up from the bed anymore than he wanted to leave it. If he could only convince Ginny to allow him to stay for the night, he might even agree to let her go upstairs to be with Harry tonight.

"Seriously, Ron, you two cannot sleep together in my room so get up," Ginny called out, as if to read his mind. Ron again only responded by offering the same hand gesture. Angelina, Lee, and George all sniggered like a bunch of first years at the bickering siblings.

"Were they like this all year then, Harry, with all the cuddling?" George teased. "I had no idea ickle Ronnie was such a loverboy." They all roared with laughter then and Ron couldn't help but think they all might be using the Hair of the Dragon tomorrow morning.

"Right then, we're leaving." Ron sat upright and swung his legs over the bed.

"We're just taking the piss out of you two, come on," Lee waved for them to join them. "It's been a long enough time coming. You know, I always said I knew that Ron- "

"You're full of it, Lee! Don't even start!" George scoffed before Lee could finish. "Don't you think if I'd have known, Fred and I would have taken the piss sooner?" George scoffed.

"You did!" Ron recalled being constantly teased by his brothers for going to Hogsmeade with Hermione by himself or studying alone with her in the library. They had been thoroughly amused by the fact that one of their little brother's best friends was a girl and made a point of poking fun of that fact as much as possible.

"Yes, but we didn't REALLY know you fancied her."

"You two, come on over and drink another toast to Fred!" Lee called.

"To Fred!" The group on the floor raised their glasses for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

Ron knew Hermione could feel him tense up beside her. He'd avoided most of the toasts that afternoon and most of the conversation about Fred. Every time they did one he told her he was going and prepared himself to leave. He liked being up here and seeing his sister and brother smile, but he hated the toasts.

"Ron, stay," Hermione whispered for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Her fingers wrapped around his arm tightly and implored him not to leave. He was reminded of dinner in the Great Hall that night she'd kept her hand on his bouncing thigh when he'd wanted to flee to Gryffindor tower. She'd kept him there with his family then just like she was doing now. Truth was, he wanted to face things the way the rest of his family seemed able to, but he hated how this all felt. Memorializing Fred, sharing stories of pranks he'd played and great plays he'd made on the Quidditch pitch. It all felt false the way what he'd seen of the funeral had felt false.

He hadn't heard any of what had been said, but he was confident they'd eulogized Fred with the same kind of glowing reverence Seamus and Wood had. Ron wanted to get up right now and, just once, remind them all that his brother wasn't perfect, that he was hardly a stellar student and fucked up an awful lot. But he couldn't say that to the relatively joyful group on Ginny's bedroom floor.

Lee had just said something so funny that Angelina and Katie both had tears in their eyes. His brother and sister both had broad grins on their face for the first time in what felt like days. He eyed the empty bottles of Mead and a half finished bottle of firewhiskey. All of them looked quite pissed. Maybe not to the point he had been last night, but enough so that their laughter flowed quite freely.

He was trying, staying here because Harry had asked him and because, deep down, he knew he should. Ginny's ribbing all afternoon had hardly been malicious and the teasing banter had seemed to be a comfort to her, the same way it had to George when they walked back to the Burrow. He was helping. His mere presence was helping. Ron glanced out the window he and Harry had cleaned days ago, hardly believing that darkness was finally setting in and the horrible day was almost over.

"I did go, you know," he mumbled suddenly.

"Go where?" Hermione inquired, her words muffled against his chest.

"You know, this morning…" He could not make himself say the word funeral out loud. "George and I, we were up on the hill above the field. We watched it all." Hermione's jaw didn't drop, but Ron watched her lips part slightly in surprise, almost like she wanted to say something. "I hate that that old bloke from Dumbledore's funeral was there."

"That's Ethelbert Edison, Ron. He's the most respected magical minister in all of Britain. It's quite an honor."

"He didn't know Fred."

"Yes, but he wanted to come. Your parents didn't even ask him like they had to ask him to do Bill and Fleur's wedding. He volunteered."

"He didn't know Fred."

"I didn't know Fred the way you did," she offered quietly. "That doesn't mean I can't admire him. People don't have to know him to respect what he did."

"Respect what? Getting killed by Death Eaters?" Ron retorted, anger he wasn't even aware was there suddenly bubbling inside him. He was quite sure half of the people that were downstairs in his family's sitting room were only there because of the circumstances under which Fred had been killed. If he'd blown himself up experimenting with a new product at Weasley Wizard Wheezes he doubted as many people would be there.

"No, respect that Fred was a person who was willing to risk everything for what he believed," she replied softly.

"Like blowing off his seventh year?" Ron asked. He knew the subject of the twins' departure from Hogwarts was one that often irritated Hermione.

"Yes, even that. He was being honest to himself and doing what he believed was right," Hermione spoke calmly.

"He left school." Ron raised his eyebrows, surprised at her calm reasoning and now eager to get a rise out of her, his earlier anger quickly passing. "Neglected his education."

"I know."

"He didn't take his N.E.W.T.S," he goaded. "He failed to complete the groundwork necessary for a proper career in the magical arts!" he parroted Hermione's frequent argument for why seventh year was critical.

"I never said I believed it was right!" she finally sputtered, "I just said that he did."

Ron laughed at her loss of composure and looked back to the party still going on. They were all talking about Quidditch now. Angelina and Katie were curious what Ginny's plan would be next year as team captain, asking about tryouts and the starting roster. With his sister's attention otherwise engaged, Ron dared nudge a bit closer and snake another arm around Hermione so she was now firmly wrapped in his embrace.

"Fred was always true to himself," she spoke after a slight pause.

Ron's laughter faded as he turned over her words. He thought about that bit of recklessness in Fred that caused him to make quips while simultaneously dueling Death Eaters. That bit of recklessness that had probably gotten him killed. He reckoned what Lee had said earlier that day before toast number fourteen was correct, that was the way Fred had probably wanted to go. Laughing and joking alongside his family, doing the right thing, and staying true to himself, for better or for worse.

Still, part of him was mad at his brother. Mad at him for being so careless in battle. He bet not one person had made mention of the fact that he had been cracking jokes and not paying attention in the instant he'd been killed. Perhaps if Fred had been more alert he'd still be here. He wondered if anyone at the funeral had made mention of that. Sometimes when he thought about Fred being gone, he got so angry at his brother.

Sometimes when he thought about it, he got so angry with himself. He'd been selfish. His decision to go with Harry had put his entire family in danger.

Sometimes he felt like he'd killed Fred.

"You all right?" Hermione seemed to detect the far-away look in his eye. "We can go downstairs if you want." Ron felt a rush of affection toward her. She knew the toasts made him uncomfortable. She knew he'd tried all afternoon. She'd held him together each time they raised their glasses, but he just couldn't memorialize Fred the way the rest of his family seemed to. All week he'd taken comfort in the fact that at least George had isolated himself from his family as well. But now George was laughing and drinking and recounting story after story of Fred. Now he was the only one left in the family who still couldn't even talk about him.

"I'll be fine." Ron offered a weak smile, wondering if it counted as lying if he wished the words were true, as he looked back and forth between the party on the floor and Hermione.

The group on the floor began to buzz excitedly, pulling him out of his head, and he heard his brother roar with delight suddenly.

"Come on, let's go get Charlie and Bill and do this!" George threw back the rest of his firewhiskey and scrambled to his feet. Ginny popped up just as quickly, chattering eagerly in agreement. Even Percy looked excited.

"Do what?" Ron asked.

"Fireworks, remember?" George reminded him of their conversation outside on the hill. He was practically glowing with excitement.

"You're not serious. It's a funeral," Ron frowned at the absurd notion, but George just grinned.

"It's Fred's funeral."

Hermione looked to Ron uncertainly, seeming as dubious about the suggestion as he did, but one look at George and Ginny's excited faces and he raised himself from the bed. Even Percy looked excited. He would support them, the way he hadn't all week.

"Come on." He took her hand and followed after the chattering group, stopping briefly by George's room where he filled everybody's arms with boxes of leftover firecrackers from beneath Fred's bed.

George immediately went about setting them up in the garden, gathering up the rest of the family and anybody else still at the Burrow so they could enjoy the show. Ron noticed it was just the Diggorys and a smattering of cousins who remained. Ron saw his mum and dad couldn't help but smile at George's enthusiasm as he whisked them outside. His mum sat down in the chair that Bill summoned for her and he saw Mrs. Diggory join her.

"Dear me, I hope those are safe," his mum fretted as she watched Percy help George and Lee stick an ancient looking one into the ground. Ron saw it spark and fizzle at random as he settled onto the grass with Hermione. Ginny, Harry, Angelina, and Katie grabbed a spot close by. Dusk had fallen and striations of pink and blue stretched across the sky. Despite the slight chill in the air, it was a perfect spring evening.

Ginny turned around to glance at Ron. He thought she might say something rude at the surprisingly intimate way Hermione was seated between his raised knees, but she just smiled at them both. She looked proud of him, almost like she had when they'd won the Quidditch Cup sixth year. They were here, all together, the new Weasley family minus one. Except, Ron realised as he looked about the garden, that they had grown. Percy was back, of course, standing side-by-side with George. There was Hermione, resting against his chest, and Harry, of course. There was Lee and Katie and Angelina and those who had known and loved Fred best. There was Fleur and the Delacours, who Ron had not noticed until then. There were the Diggorys, who were still talking to his parents. Ron couldn't help but think as he looked to his dad and Mr. Diggory, deep in conversation, that they would be seeing much more of their neighbors after today.

Hermione shivered against him, Fleur's cardigan doing little to keep away the evening chill, and Ron rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm her. She looked over her shoulder and offered an appreciative smile while George and Lee readied the last of the fireworks. He thought he detected the same hint of pride in her face he'd seen in Ginny's. She seemed to sense the significance of the sheer fact that he was here. He hadn't run.

"Everyone ready?" George called out. He was grinning widely as he looked out at his family. Everybody just shouted jubilantly back at him. With a flick of his wand, the first rocket went off and the sky lit up with color. Shockingly pink and orange Catherine Wheels spun around and a rocket with a long tail of silver stars painted the already colourful sky.

George whooped with a joy that Ron guessed might also be masking a few tears as he threw his arms around Percy and Lee in celebration. Ron heard Ginny give an odd muffled cry that he sensed was the same odd combination. There were tears and smiles all throughout the garden as each firework seemed to duplicate and grow stronger. Ron knew these weren't just an old box of Dr. Filibuster's that had been under the bed. These were Fred and George's own creations, the same ones that had tormented Dolores Umbridge so many years ago.

He couldn't quite make himself smile. He could hear his mum crying quietly behind him into a handkerchief, though the sound was punctuated with hiccups of laughter. Hermione was sniffling in front of him, though he too could hear her tiny laugh echo each time one divided and then seemed to double in size. He rested his chin on her shoulder, wrapped his arms around her waist and closed his eyes.

If he just focused on the laughter, if he forgot why they were out here, if he just concentrated on the feel of Hermione against him, he could smile too. But even with his eyes closed, Fred's absence was painfully obvious from the gathering. He should be here. Try as he might, that's all Ron could think.

So while the rest of his family 'oohed' and 'aahed' and celebrated Fred, Ron nestled closer to Hermione and he celebrated her. He breathed in the wonderful scent of orchids and vanilla he'd described to Charlie and he celebrated the fact that she was his. He could smile when he thought about the way they'd embraced up in his room yesterday. He could even manage a laugh when he thought about their trip to Australia and all that it might hold. But he still couldn't make himself smile for Fred.

He reckoned Hermione could feel his grip around her waist tighten. That was probably why she turned around and offered him a supportive smile. All he could manage back was a kiss. He didn't even stop to think about his mum and dad seated right behind them or the Delacours or Diggorys and what they might think at the display of affection. His lips just found hers.

The fireworks continued to burst overhead and he heard everybody continue to delight in the display. He could even hear a few murmurs and giggles that he guessed were directed at them, but Hermione didn't withdraw like he thought she might. Her mouth came alive against his and beneath the fireworks for a little while longer, he let himself forget the reason they were bursting overhead.


	18. Chapter 18

In the dark of the sitting room, Ron read all the way up to the seventeenth century. With The Code of Secrecy spread across his laps, he moved well past fourteenth century Quidditch bans and started reading about the widespread persecution of Wizarding children by Muggles. The Code of Secrecy described drownings and hangings and people being pressed to death by stones. There had been no nightmares tonight, but that was only because he hadn't been able to fall asleep. Despite the long lingering kiss Hermione had left him with outside his door, his mind kept returning to the mound of dirt. When he thought about the mound of dirt he thought about what his brother looked like beneath it and when he thought about what his brother looked like he thought about the Stone. It was all just one big morbid loop that kept playing on repeat in his brain. So he'd crept downstairs and curled up with the same book he and Hermione had read together days ago and he hoped it might help him fall asleep.

Except Hermione was right, the book was actually interesting. Somehow after all they'd been through in the last year, he no longer found history so dull. Wizards and goblins and centaurs fighting against bigotry and dying to preserve their way of life was familiar. He understood it all in a way he never had before. It wasn't just names and dates. History was people. He got it now.

"Now I know you've been spending too much time with Hermione." Ron promptly clicked the Deluminator in his pocket off at the sound of another voice, removing what little light was left in the sitting room. Harry swore loudly as Ron heard what must be his toes smashing against the foot of an armchair in the darkness. "Turn on the sodding light so I can see, eh?" his friend grumbled as he limped over to him.

"Sorry," Ron muttered sheepishly and clicked it again so the soft candlelight could reappear to light Harry's way, "just habit, I reckon."

"S'alright," Harry dismissed. "What's with the book? Bit of light reading?"

"Er, yeah." Ron watched as Harry sat down in the armchair across from him.

"Is that the book from the other day?"

"Yeah."

"Still can't sleep, huh?" Harry inquired knowingly and he didn't wait for Ron to answer before continuing. "Ginny came up to see me earlier," he sighed. "Said she couldn't sleep either." The words were a slight comfort to Ron, even though they were attached to a mental picture of Ginny crawling into Harry's bed. He simply grunted in reply and Harry kept talking. "She said Hermione's been talking in her sleep all week. She didn't do that this year, did she?"

"She's done it ever since…" His voice trailed away as he recalled the night he'd first heard it. He'd passed the night in an uncomfortable wooden chair and had chalked the murmurings up to the immediate physical effects of the Cruciatius curse. By the second and third night at Shell Cottage, he'd known it was something more. Ron felt a sudden wave of guilt. Aside from that morning on his old dormitory bed when he'd felt Hermione shake beside him, he hadn't given her own difficulty sleeping much thought in the past week. He'd been focused on his own horrid nightmares. He recalled how his sister said she clearly said his name in her sleep. Had she called for him the last five nights? He felt a pang that he hadn't been there for her. "Yeah, she does." He looked back up at Harry. "Do me a favor and next time Ginny comes crawling into your bed, make sure and let me know, eh?"

"So you can go crawl into Hermione's?" Harry teased.

"Maybe," Ron laughed. He knew Harry would never talk about Hermione the vulgar way George had that afternoon, but he was grateful they could at least talk like this. "She'd probably kick me out."

"Somehow I doubt that." Harry raised his eyebrows dubiously and laughed. Ron knew his friend was likely recalling the bold way he and Hermione had embraced out in the garden in front of everyone. Ron laughed weakly, but it felt oddly forced. He wasn't really sure what to say to Harry.

It had been a strange day. Kingsley and Hagrid and Professor McGonagall- they'd all been here. Lee and Angelina and Seamus and Luna, they'd all been here too. The house, this very sitting room, had been filled with friends and strangers and somehow he'd talked to all of them more than he'd talked to Harry. Had that been on purpose? He hadn't meant to avoid Harry, but now that he thought about it, as they sat here in the dim candlelight, he realised he hadn't talked to Harry much at all in the last week. He'd been glued to Hermione, only seeing Harry at meal times or on the rare occasions when Hermione would drag him downstairs. Had that been his fault? He figured Harry wanted to spend time alone with Ginny as much as he wanted to spend time alone with Hermione, but perhaps that wasn't the case. He wondered uncomfortably if it would be this way from now on. Now that he and Hermione were what they were, he wondered if it meant everything had changed.

"I don't think I'd have gone to Sirius' funeral," Harry offered suddenly. Ron jerked his head up and looked to his friend, the words hardly what he expected to hear. "If there'd been one, I mean."

"Right."

"I probably would have tried to find the Resurrection Stone too if I'd known about it then." Ron didn't reply, but his attention was piqued by Harry's words. "You're not still thinking about it, are you?"

"No." Ron's reply came entirely too quickly. "I mean…not really."

"Because you know you can't."

"Right. I know. Not - not permanently."

"Not ever." Harry's voice had the same soft but firm tone Hermione's had when she was scolding him.

"I mean – what if I just used it for me and George to say goodbye?" Harry didn't reply, but his silence said it all. "I know. I know it's stupid. I just – I think I wouldn't be so…angry, so - I don't know – I wouldn't feel the way I do if I could just…if I could just talk to him again," Ron blurted out. He wasn't sure whether it was the dark and the fact that he couldn't really see Harry's face that had made him say it, but it was more than he'd said on the matter all week to anyone.

"What would you say?" Harry asked quietly after a long pause.

"What would you say to Sirius?" Ron turned the tables on his friend.

"I asked you first."

"I dunno." Ron shrugged.

"I'd say - " Harry stammered

"I'm sorry." The words sounded from both their lips at the same time.

"Why would you say that? It wasn't your fault," Harry dismissed with an odd laugh.

"I dunno," Ron mumbled. "Just because."

"You think if you hadn't come with me your family would have started hating Muggle-borns and he would never have fought?" Harry snorted.

"No, it's not that. I mean it is, a bit. I just – I feel guilty, yeah. I can't help it, y'know?"

"I really do," Harry assured. Ron recalled the circumstances of Sirius' death and suddenly felt terrible for bringing up the matter of guilt. "But you can't be responsible for the shit people do, the choices they make." The words hung in air and Harry gave a simple shrug. "You helped me realise that."

"Me?" The words were the last thing Ron expected to hear. On a list of things he'd taught Harry, he figured it stopped right after what Floo Powder did and how many Quidditch teams there were in the English League.

"I couldn't stop you from going down that trap door first year or offering yourself up in that sodding chess game and you know I didn't want you to come with me this year - "

"Like you could have stopped me!" Ron puffed his chest out.

"Exactly." Harry gave an odd smile as Ron turned over the words.

He tried thinking of all the times he'd put himself in danger, volunteered his own life for someone else. There was the chess game down the trapdoor first year that Harry had mentioned, then the following year he'd gone into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue his sister. He'd told Sirius Black to kill him when he was fourteen and begged Bellatrix to torture him in place of Hermione a little over a month ago. He reckoned Harry was right. There wasn't a single thing anyone could do to stop him if any of them were threatened. Still, all he could think about was getting away from his family.

"I can't wait to leave." He surprised himself by saying the words out loud. "I know that's awful of me, but I just – I need to get out of here."

"You just want to be alone so you can shag Hermione!"

"Not you too," Ron groaned.

"At the rate you two are going you'll come back married!"

"Come off it."

"You put on quite a show last night." Harry grinned, likely recalling the way they'd embraced out in the garden long after the fireworks had ended. "Ginny says you don't look to have refined your technique at all."

"I reckon Hermione would beg to differ."

"Do you ever talk to her?" Harry inquired suddenly, his voice quickly losing its teasing tone. "I mean about…about stuff like the Stone? About Fred?"

Ron bristled. For as many times as he had heard the name yesterday, accompanied with raised glasses and toast after toast, it jarred Ron to hear Harry say his brother's name now. He wasn't talking about Fred's antics or something he said, he was talking about Fred like he was a memory. He wanted to laugh just thinking of what Harry was proposing. He knew how Hermione would react if he told her he wanted to find the Resurrection Stone. She'd tell him it was foolish. She'd give a litany of reasons why it was a horrible idea. She'd get that awful pitiable look on her face because he knew it was foolish. Ron licked his lips, but said nothing. Harry seemed to sense his sudden discomfort and quickly returned to ribbing him about their behaviour yesterday. "The next time you two come up for air, that is."

"Oh, you're really one to talk," Ron retorted. He'd caught Harry and his sister snogging just outside the back door the other day when they were supposed to be fetching his father for supper.

"Yes, but at least we're subtle about it."

"I don't think you'd be subtle if you had to wait four sodding years for it."

"Four years? Really?"

"Something like that." Ron shrugged his shoulders and gave a chuckle. "Whenever it was I first realised she had tits." Harry snorted loudly at the crass remark and the boys continued to laugh loudly in the dimly lit sitting room. It felt good, laughing like this. Ron reckoned he hadn't had a good laugh all week, especially not with Harry. "I just don't…I don't think she'd understand," he confessed suddenly, quickly putting an end to the laughter.

"She'd understand. Nobody's pretending this is easy."

"Yeah? And what was all the drinking and joking upstairs about?" He didn't attempt to disguise the accusatory tone of his voice.

"Coping," Harry stated simply.

"You know, I hated at first how we couldn't even mention Fred's name without everyone going all weird," Ron confessed into the darkness. "It's like his name was cursed or something and I couldn't even talk about him without mum or Ginny going round the twist."

"But?" Harry seemed to pick up on the fact that there was flip side to Ron's rant.

"But now I hate that every time we do talk about him it's always about how bloody perfect he was," Ron blurted out. "And I didn't even know half the people here yesterday and they're all about Fred the hero and I just…I don't get how it doesn't bother anyone else." Ron could barely make out the pictures on the mantle in the darkness, but he looked to where he knew the picture of Fred in his dragon-skin suit was. "He wasn't perfect."

"You don't want to remember him as a hero?"

"No, I want to remember him as my brother." Ron replied shortly. He had assumed Harry, who had so long refused the attention bestowed upon him, would understand his dislike for the sudden worship toward Fred.

"Can't he be both?" Harry countered and a heavy silence filled the space between them. "You should talk to Hermione."

"I can't." Ron wasn't sure why he was so vehemently denying the suggestion. They'd gotten better, he and Hermione, about talking about their feelings and being honest with each other, but he wasn't quite ready for Hermione to see him so desperate. Thinking about the Stone felt immature somehow, especially seeing how the rest of his family had got on yesterday. He was the only one grasping at straws to bring Fred back. He was the only one who couldn't face up to the reality that he'd never see his brother again.

Hermione wouldn't really tell him it was stupid if he told her, he knew that. She would be supportive. She'd probably speak in the same soft tone she had when she told him she was sorry Fred was dead. She'd touch his arm. She'd feel bad for him for being such a sad sorry sack. She might even kiss him a few times.

Telling her what had kept him awake tonight felt like exposing a part of him he didn't want Hermione to see though. Of course, she'd seen ugly parts of him before. She probably knew him better than anyone in the world, better than Harry even. She'd seen him jealous and proud, angry and hateful. Those weaknesses of his heart, the same ones that still had him grasping at straws to bring back his brother, were things he didn't want her to see. He'd always made himself strong for her. He cracked jokes even when he was terrified, made her laugh even when all he wanted to do was cry. Only in the last week did he realise how much he had let himself go.

He got lost in her. Sometimes he still had to pinch himself that it all was real. Not the nightmare of his brother being gone, but the finally realised dream of being with Hermione. This was all new. Not just being able to kiss her whenever he wanted, though that by itself seemed to be a miracle. He'd spent the past few years wondering why she ignored his compliments, worrying about making himself look better, and troubling himself with saying the right things. He didn't do any of those things anymore. Now when he was in her company, alone or not, all he found was that he completely lost himself.

He ought to tell her, not just about wanting to find the Stone, but about everything. Burying feelings was stupid. The past seven years should have taught him that. Still, he felt like he'd already been such a mess all week. He couldn't reveal such a stupid idea as wanting to resurrect his brother. She'd ship him off to Saint Mungo's. Besides, the funeral was over now. He could just move forward and think about Australia. They would be leaving in a day after all. He had real things to think about, more important things. He would forget about the Stone. He would forget about the mound of dirt. He would focus on Hermione.

Nobody knew quite what to make of the neatly wrapped box that Errol brought by at breakfast. Though the package was quite light, the great grey owl had barely managed to haul it through the window. Wrapped in thick brown paper, the small package was formally addressed to Ron and Hermione in very neat and ordered handwriting and had an envelope with a Ministry of Magic seal attached to it, which immediately caused the entire Weasley family to begin speculating about what it was.

Mr. Weasley guessed it was a note of thanks and a token of appreciation from Kingsley, Charlie thought it might be a plaque, George, who had joined the family for breakfast for the first time all week, jokingly guessed it was a pair of crowns from the Queen.

Ron was the last one down the stairs to see the mystery package. He hadn't been able to sleep much, even after his conversation with Harry. He thought about Australia, about traveling across the world alone with Hermione and what it would mean. He thought about where they would sleep and what he would eat and he soon grew so excited that it had been difficult to fall back asleep.

Ginny and George practically mauled him to open the package up as soon as he arrived down the stairs. Even the normally composed Bill seemed eager to learn what was inside.

"Hermione wouldn't let us open it until you woke up," Ginny explained, sounding the slightest bit annoyed. "Which we were beginning to think wouldn't be until lunchtime."

"Did you sleep all right?" Hermione asked quietly, reaching down to touch his hand softly. Ron recalled their first morning back at the Burrow just a few days ago when he'd asked her the very same thing and she'd been so nervous she'd turned a fierce shade of scarlet. She seemed oblivious to his family members now.

"Better," he murmured with a nod of the head.

"It has both our names on it." Hermione finally looked down to the package and the official Ministry of Magic seal on it. Ron rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"I reckon it's some follow up from the article the other day." He pulled the envelope attached to the front off and carefully tore it open. The note inside was short and written on a small scrap of parchment.

"Dear Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger," Hermione read the note aloud so the entire room could hear. "After obtaining the written statements of two Snatchers who confessed to illegally seizing these items from you last month, we thought you might like them returned to your possession. Best Regards, Tiberius Ogden."

"Old Tiberius is back! How wonderful!"

"You were taken by Snatchers?"

His parents' responses were mixed. His dad looked pleased, but his mum's face grew ashen at the contents of the letter. Ron and Hermione didn't respond to either remark. They both knew exactly what the box now held and the smile that stretched across Hermione's face quickly spread to Ron's. They tore away the brown paper eagerly, like children on Christmas morning opening their first present. Hermione's hand quivered with excitement as she grabbed the smaller box to reveal the vine wood wand she had missed so dearly. Ron seized the larger box and grasped the fourteen inch wand of willow in his treasure-scarred hand.

"I don't believe it!" Hermione exclaimed jubilantly, holding her wand aloft as if she was eleven years old and had just received it from Mr. Ollivander. "I never thought we'd see them again."

"Neither did I!" Ron held his the same way. "Not after Scabior - "

"Scabior?" His dad interrupted their celebration. His own happiness at hearing about the return of Tiberius Ogden to the Wizengamot quickly fell away. "Scabior was a part of Greyback's gang." His dad wrinkled his brow in concern. "We heard you'd been sighted by Snatchers, but good Lord, I didn't know you'd been actually grabbed by them. That gang was notoriously brutal."

His mum's already pale face grew even paler.

"Greyback." The mere mention of the name caused Bill to snarl quite suddenly. Ron saw an almost wolfish glint in his brother's eye that he'd never seen before. "Did you see someone smashed his head in?" He sounded quite pleased at the fact, but both Fleur and his mum looked horrified at his apparent glee. "What? I'm glad he finally got his!" Bill scoffed. "Wish I could have done the honors myself to be honest." Ron's eyes darted nervously around the room and he saw Charlie attempt to hold his gaze briefly.

Eager to steer the conversation away from Greyback, Ron quickly used his wand to cast a Levitation Charm across the room. He felt almost like he was being reunited with an old friend. He knew it was silly. It was fourteen inches of willow with a unicorn hair inside. Still the wand had been the first real thing that he had owned that was all his. He thought he would never see it again and had begun to accept that until he got the money for yet another replacement wand, he would be stuck with Peter Pettigrew's, which felt awful and dirty. He jinxed the remnants of that morning's breakfast at random, poached eggs grew greatly in size than shrunk again and snowflakes fell from the ceiling and made the toast soggy. Hermione worked on drying out the toast and returning the eggs to normal size, scolding him, but looking just as jubilant as Ron.

"Speaking of justice." His dad cleared his throat as Ron sent a glass water goblet careening across the room. "Rumor has it Narcissa Malfoy wants to summon you as a character witness at their trial next week, Harry."

The smile fell from Ron's face and he immediately dropped his wand hand, causing the water goblet to crash loudly to the floor and shatter. He hardly looked fazed by the noise that caused everybody in the room to stare at him curiously.

"Goodness, Ron, what was that all about?" With a wave of her wand his mum repaired the water goblet.

"No," Ron stated flatly, ignoring his mum's inquiry and looking only to Harry. His buoyant mood at being reunited with his wand was gone as he saw the increasingly contemplative look on Harry's face. "Harry, no."

"Ron." Hermione reached out and touched his shoulder in an effort to calm him.

"You can't," he insisted.

"She saved my life."

"She was out for herself!" Ron spat.

"She still saved my life." Harry shrugged.

"What on earth are you two going on about?" his mum interjected.

"It's not like she had a sudden change of heart and decided to fight on our side or anything." Ron snorted, ignoring his mum "She was protecting her family, that's all."

"Ron," Hermione protested softly again. This time she tried to touch his arm, but he just jerked away.

"I can't believe you're even thinking about it, Harry! After everything that happened. Everything they did to us!"

"What did they do to you?" his mum spoke fretfully.

"Facts are facts and she lied to Riddle for me," Harry stated simply.

"For herself!" Ron hissed. "She did it for herself, not for any of us! That family is everything that's wrong with the world. They're selfish and bigoted and cruel."

"They are," Harry agreed. "But she's still the reason I was able to come back and finish him."

"What are you going on about, Harry?" Ron's dad now launched a query at the conversation playing out. "Did the Malfoys help you?"

"And the rest of the family?" Ron snorted, ignoring his father's query. "You're going to tell me they all helped you finish Voldemort too?"

"You know Draco lied about recognising all of us that night." The entire room looked on in question at the heated conversation currently taking place between the two boys and a weakly protesting Hermione. She appeared to grow more uncomfortable at where the conversation was heading.

"What cellar?" his mum cried. "When were you at the Malfoys?"

"Yeah, he also threatened to kill all of us in the cellar!" Ron spat.

"Ron, please," Hermione tried to interject yet again.

"Do you really want to be responsible for the Malfoys staying out of Azkaban?" Ron ignored his mum's frantic inquiry as well as Hermione's pleas to stop. "They deserve a lifetime in there after what they did to us!" Ron thundered.

"What do you mean what they did to you?"

Ron ignored his mum yet again, maintaining his singular focus that Harry should do nothing to help the Malfoy family in any way.

"I'm not saying I want to keep them out of Azkaban. I'll be honest about everything they did. I just think the world ought to know - "

"Ought to know they're evil!" Ron cried. "They're evil, disgusting people!"

"They're not completely evil people," Harry insisted. "They have the capacity to love. There's a difference."

Ron thought Harry sounded oddly like Dumbledore. This was the part of his friend that was different. This was the part of his friend who surrendered the elder wand and dropped the Resurrection Stone in the forest, who forgave Snape for years of injustice, who somehow managed to see the good in people who did terrible things.

"Yeah, they love each other and their bloody mansion, that's all," Ron snapped.

"I know that. But they still love something. And she risked her life for her son. That makes her different."

"They're evil!" He knew the veins in his neck were probably pulsing. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his eardrums at the mere memory of their time at the Malfoy home.

"They're not evil like Bellatrix and Riddle were."

"They just stood there while she tortured her!" Ron screamed and pointed across the room to Hermione, unable to control his rage any longer.

His chest was heaving as his words echoed around the now very silent room. Six pairs of eyes turned to Hermione in horror. Only Bill and Fleur appeared unshaken by the news. Though he and Harry had said nothing, Ron knew they had both figured out what had happened to Hermione in the time they'd spent at Shell Cottage. Bill had tried to pry it out of him, and even though he knew his brother had figured it out easily enough, Ron had maintained that what happened to Hermione was Hermione's story to tell. Yet here he was, unable to control his temper, blurting it out in front of everybody.

"Hermione?" Ginny creaked in disbelief. Ron knew she was connecting the dots to their conversation in the Gryffindor common room days ago and the noises she heard while Hermione slept.

"My dear child," his mum whispered in horror as everybody stared at her.

"I'm all right." Hermione finally spoke and, of all things, gave an embarrassed laugh. Everybody just continued to gape at her. "Really." She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

"When?" his dad inquired softly.

"Last month. But really, I - I'm fine," she insisted. She was wringing her hands together and Ron desperately wanted to move his own hands on top of them to stop the nervous fidgeting. He watched her tug at her left sleeve, suddenly feeling a terrible guilt at his stupid inability to keep his emotions in check. This hadn't been his story to tell. And now they were all gaping at her in the exact manner he knew she had likely wanted to avoid.

"Was it Bellatrix?" his dad continued to interrogate. Hermione just nodded solemnly. Ron saw his mum's eyes narrow, likely feeling a greater sense of justice at having killed the horrible witch. "Did anybody else assist her?"

"Dad!" Ron stepped up next to Hermione, halting his dad's interrogation.

"The Ministry needs to know about this, Ron. If the Malfoys helped facilitate the torture of - "

"Dad!" Ron cut his dad off again, reminding him that he was talking about Hermione and not just some nameless torture victim.

"I'm fine, Ron," Hermione assured. "It was a month ago and loads of students at Hogwarts were tortured this year." She waved her hand in an oddly dismissive way that made Ron uncomfortable somehow.

"Yeah, by Crabbe and Goyle. Not Bellatrix Lestrange!" Ginny replied. Ron was almost afraid his father was about to ask specific details regarding what exactly she had done to Hermione then, but he remained silent.

Ron didn't even know the details of her torture. They hadn't spoken about her ordeal at the Malfoys since Shell Cottage. She had been so physically weak in the immediate days after and he was so focused on her being well that he never referenced the terror and brutality of what she had survived. Then their focus had shifted so quickly onto breaking into Gringott's that her ordeal had been left behind. Any reference to what had happened to her had been reduced to compliments for her quick thinking and togetherness.

She looked to him now, her eyes belying the casual way she'd brushed everybody else off. She was angry with him and his big mouth, he could tell. For whatever reason, she didn't want them to know about what she'd endured. His family seemed to sense the heavy air between them and quickly made up excuses to disperse. Percy had a letter to mail and went to look for Hermes out in the garden. Charlie fancied yet another walk. His dad left something in the garage. Soon they were alone in the sitting room.

"That wasn't your place to tell everyone," she finally stated matter-of-factly, sitting down on the couch once everyone had departed.

"I know it wasn't," he admitted. "I just – when I think about the Malfoys not paying for what they did to you - "

"The Malfoys didn't do anything. They weren't the ones who - "

"They didn't do anything to stop it," Ron growled. "That's just as bad in my book."

"I wish you hadn't told everybody like that."

"You shouldn't be ashamed, Hermione."

"I'm not ashamed," she stated coolly. "I just …wish you hadn't told everybody."

"I know." Ron bowed his head apologetically. "I won't let them ask questions though, don't worry," Ron promised boldly on behalf of his family. Hermione laughed in an oddly dismissive manner.

"The Ministry ought to know everything that happened."

"You don't have to talk about it!" he replied heroically, his chest swelling out defensively. Hermione just laughed again though.

"I'm all right, Ron."

He looked to her strangely. He remembered the cuts that had criss-crossed her arms and the bloody bandages after Fleur had finished treating her. He also recalled the vomiting and muscle spasms that had wracked her body for hours afterwards. He'd stayed with her then, holding her hair back and remaining by her bedside. She'd been too weak to protest then. Now she was oddly demure about the whole thing, so much so that he found it unsettling.

"Then how come you've kept it secret?" he inquired softly.

"I didn't keep it secret," she spoke plainly. "I just didn't tell anybody." Ron gave her a dubious glare at the weak argument. "What?" She actually laughed though Ron saw her fidget with the cuff of her sleeve.

"You've been hiding it," he insisted.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

Part of him truly believed she was. She had kept her cool throughout it all, stayed focused on the task at hand, and had successfully spearheaded the break-in to Gringotts by embodying her torturer. Perhaps she really was fine. Perhaps he was the one who didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it meant referencing the terrible sound of her screams and his frantic reaction.

"Why are you so upset that I said something then?" he pressed.

"Because I don't want your family to worry about me like I knew they would," Hermione finally admitted. "In light of all that's happened…it's not really a big deal - "

"Not a big deal!" Ron practically shouted.

"I just mean, I survived. I'm still here. I'm okay." At her words, Ron couldn't help but think of the murmuring in her sleep Harry had referenced last night. He guessed she probably wasn't even aware of it. "Your mum and dad have enough to…" Her voice trailed off and she raised her eyes to his finally. "I didn't want them worrying about me too." He finally sat down on the couch beside her then.

"It's not up to you who worries about you," he stated softly.

"But you don't need to. It's over and done."

"Just because it happened in the past doesn't mean - "

"I'm fine, Ron," she maintained with another laugh. Ron couldn't help but think torture wasn't exactly the kind of thing you laughed at, but he relented. She hadn't pushed him the past week, hadn't asked him how he was doing or pressed him to open up. She hadn't even really yelled at him for abandoning her yesterday.

"So – er - you still want to leave for Australia tomorrow?" he inquired in a much-needed change of subject. That's what Australia was really, a change of subject, a change of scenery. Thoughts of a great adventure on the other side of the world, of him and Hermione alone and together had gotten him through this dreadful week. It would get him through one more day.

"If you still want to." Her lackluster reply dampened his spirits a bit, but he saw then that she was looking to the door where Harry, Ginny, George, and Percy had reappeared from the garden, awkwardly trying to appear as if they weren't paying any attention. "I mean, do you not want to stay with your family?"

"I want to go with you."

"Right."

"Do you still want me to come?" he tried to ask casually, like the possibility that she might not didn't trouble him in the slightest.

"I just thought maybe – after yesterday - I thought you might want - "

"I want to go with you," he repeated.

"I can make the trip on my own."

"I know you can. I just – look, do you not want me to come with you?"

"I want you with me," she assured, moving her hand so it rested atop his thigh. "I always want you with me. I just wonder if it wouldn't be better for everybody if you stayed with your family." She looked again to where Harry and his siblings were now gathered in the kitchen, actively trying not to listen.

"For everybody?" Ron frowned.

"Your brothers - "

"They'll be fine," he dismissed and nodded in their direction.

"Your mum and dad."

"Mum's fine with it now!"

"Ginny - "

"She's just jealous!"

"You," Hermione finally spoke words to which he had no rebuttal. For a minute, he wondered if she'd overheard him talking to Harry last night about wanting to get away, before he reminded himself this was Hermione. She always knew. He avoided her gaze, looking instead to how her fingers wrapped around the inside of his thigh, wondering if she even realised the intimacy behind the action and how close her fingers were to his bits. "You're running away. You know you are," she finally spoke.

"I want to be with you," he spoke plainly. He felt like these were the only words he knew how to say.

"You'll be with me." She clutched her free hand to her chest then. "You're always with me."

"Not like that," Ron replied in annoyance, completely unmoved by the heartfelt confession. "I want to be with you!" He spat. "Without mum calling me to dinner or half my sodding family watching us!" He pointed again to his siblings in the kitchen, who all looked rather embarrassed, save for Ginny.

"Love you too, Ron!" she called out, clearly having heard the bitter comment. Ron didn't even scowl in her direction.

"Come on, looks as if they still need a minute," Percy mumbled, shoving Ginny back toward the door.

"With the two of them it'll be more than a minute," George muttered as he marched back out to the garden.

"No, you can stay, I'm sorry!" Hermione called to them, but they were already out the door. "You didn't have to kick them out!"

"What's this about? You not wanting me to come all of a sudden?" Ron ignored her.

"Are you barking? I just told you I want you with me! I just – I want YOU with me. All of you! And it's like – it's like you're not all there."

"What are you saying? That I'm mental?"

"I'm saying you're different."

"We're all different now."

"Not like you."

"How do you mean?"

"You don't talk anymore!" she shouted and gave a laugh. "You don't laugh. You don't joke."

"We laugh," Ron mumbled softly then, trying to recall teasing and playful moments they'd shared in the last week.

"We laugh and you hide it with a kiss!" she sputtered then, "and I can't tell if you're really happy or really randy!"

"Wow." Ron stood up from the sofa then and walked toward the mantle so his back was to her. "That's what you think? Wow."

"It's the truth! It's the only time I see you smile!"

"It's the only time I'm happy!" Ron thundered so loudly he was quite sure his entire family, wherever they were hiding, could hear it. Hermione didn't reply. He heard her get up from the sofa too and he waited to hear the sound of her footsteps leaving the sitting room or going up the stairs. Instead, he just felt her body flatten against his back and her arms snake around him. Her cheek pressed into him as her hands moved up his chest, drawing him to her in an odd sort of backwards hug.

"I know," she mumbled softly. "But that's not right. That's not you."

"I know it," he muttered back after a long pause. His eyes fixed on the picture of the twins in front of their shop.

"I miss you." She breathed the words into his back and Ron remained ramrod straight, trying to pretend like the words didn't move him. Had he really been that different? He and Hermione had laughed and played. They'd had fun up in his bedroom this week. Those hadn't been fake smiles. He prided himself on being able to read her moods and her expressions. It was real, the smiles and laughter when they rolled around his bed. Hermione had always been a rubbish liar. The way she'd clung to him and the way her mouth came alive against his weren't the kind of things you could fake.

"I just can't stay here," he confessed finally. "Whatever normal is now – whatever I used to be - I'm – just – I'm not going to find it here, do you get that?" Though Ron couldn't see her as his back was still to her, she nodded her head. "But I do know I…" He swallowed loudly and took in a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on the photo of his brothers. This was easier to say with his back turned. "I need you." His eyes focused on the twins and he didn't see Hermione's lip began to quiver slightly at the confession. "Do you get that too?"

She pulled at his shirt then, trying to get him to turn him around and face her. He resisted at first, but finally relented. He was surprised to see her eyes had a glassy sheen to them. Perhaps that was why she said nothing, only wrapped her arms around him in a firm hug. They hugged there in the middle of the sitting room for what felt like hours to Ron. He wasn't sure what it all meant. There was probably something else he was supposed to say or do here instead of just hugging her. For some reason, he thought of their first real hug back when he was fourteen when all he could do was pat her awkwardly on the head. He'd been terrified then; he was terrified now. Admitting he needed her had been a relief. It felt good. Harry had been right. It was just wondering what came next that scared him.

Nobody said a thing as his family slowly filtered back into the sitting room, gathering around the table and finishing breakfast. In fact, his family did an extraordinary job at pretending like nothing had ever occurred. Not the heated row he'd had with Harry or the discussion about Hermione's torture. They even feigned ignorance about the conversation that had just taken place between Hermione and him, which he knew they all had probably heard. To their credit, they didn't even mention it. They were carrying on their own, slightly stilted, conversation about what they thought old Errol had been up to in their absence from the Burrow. They didn't even seem eager to learn the details of his row with Harry, which he knew they must be curious about as they still hadn't spoken about their activities this past year.

"I think he probably stayed here even without us," Ginny argued. "Poor old codger doesn't know anything else."

"I think he fancies it in London and that's why he takes so long to make deliveries," George laughed and continued talking about the family owl. Ron thought to himself that he'd never loved his family more.

"I think he makes for Majorca," he interjected with a grin. "Reckon he's got some nice little parakeet there he gets on with."

"Like Errol could ever make it to Majorca!" Charlie laughed.

"Speaking of traveling." Ron cleared his throat suddenly, indicating he was now speaking to the entire room. "I think Hermione and I are going to leave tomorrow." Everybody paused, but no one reacted strongly one way or the other so Ron continued. "Probably just after breakfast."

"And you're still headed to Henley today?" his mum asked from the kitchen.

"Still planning on going after lunch, yeah," Ron replied. "We'll be back by supper though."

"We'll do something special since it's your last night," his mum smiled cheerily. At the mention of their departure, Hermione left the kitchen table, whose occupants were still discussing Errol's flight patterns, to approach Mr. Weasley.

"Any word on whether we're allowed back into Gringotts yet?" she finally spoke. Kingsley had delivered the bad news yesterday at the reception that neither Ron, nor Harry nor Hermione were allowed back into the Wizarding bank. The goblins were still outraged at their treachery and the destruction they had wreaked and their assets were frozen. Kingsley assured them he was trying to negotiate some kind of agreement with the goblins, but little progress had been made.

"Not yet," Mr. Weasley sighed. "They're not exactly the most forgiving of creatures, goblins."

"Still, they can't just refuse to give us our money, that's stealing," Ron argued.

"I reckon their response would be that you stole their dragon."

"We freed their dragon!" Hermione replied immediately. Ron couldn't help but grin affectionately at the way her eyes flashed furiously.

"She's right, they really can't put up too much of a fuss about the dragon," Charlie piped in. "They didn't have it registered. Keeping it down there was illegal according to the International Statutes on Dragon-Rearing."

"Yes, well, I'll be heading back into the Ministry today. We'll see." Ron couldn't help but think that his dad didn't sound too hopeful. "The good news is all your Portkeys seem to be set!" He changed the conversation suddenly, his voice suddenly back to its normal bright and cheery tone. "Percy can tell you all about them."

Ron was grateful to see Percy no longer looked as pale as yesterday. In fact, he looked as excited as Ron could remember him ever being. Ron suspected he was pleased to be doing something to help the family. He had written their itinerary out on a piece of parchment in his neat and tidy script, outlining exactly where each Portkey would be found, what they would look like, and when they would depart. The list of objects ranged from an empty milk jug to an old Muggle mathematics textbook. They were to catch seven in total and, from the look of things, would have the longest trek between Portkeys in Bulgaria. Ron scowled upon seeing the country was listed among their destinations. Hermione sighed, clearly noting his annoyed expression.

"Viktor's from Sofia, Ron. He'll be on the other side of the country."

"How do you know?" he grumbled under his breath, though he was well aware she'd written his address numerous times when sending off letters.

The first Portkey would be an official one from the Ministry leaving from Stoatshead Hill just like where they'd taken one to the Quidditch World Cup. That would put them in a car park in Paris. Their Portkey in Bulgaria was an old Quidditch magazine that Ron reckoned would probably have Krum's face on the cover. Then they were traveling to two cities in Russia Ron had never heard of called Ufa and Novosobirsk.

"Why that's in Siberia!" Hermione exclaimed upon seeing the city listed. "That's going North!"

"I'm not even going to ask how you know that, Hermione."

"It's one of the largest cities in Russia, Ron," Hermione sighed. "They're actually supposed to have quite a good Quidditch team. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them."

"Really?" Ron perked up suddenly, amazed that Hermione knew about a Quidditch team he didn't. "Think we'll have time to take in a match?"

"You're supposed to be locating the next Portkey, Ron, not sightseeing," his mother reprimanded.

"Right." Ron looked back down at the next exotic sounding location in Kyrgyzstan and then one in India. "Okay, Hermione, if you tell me you know anything about Khaj – oo – rah- hoo, I'm - "

"I don't." Hermione looked disappointed that she didn't know anything about the tiny village. "Though I do know Phuket is supposed to be lovely." She brightened upon reading their last destination in Thailand.

"The wizard there is named Chao Nai Thim. He's a close friend of Kingsley's and is the one who will help you on your last leg to Australia," Percy informed. "They don't use Portkeys in Thailand so you'll be traveling by sapsoon."

"Sap-what?" Ron frowned.

"It's a bit like Apparation, only underwater."

"Apparating underwater? No thank you!" he exclaimed.

"I've read about it, Ron, it's quite safe," Hermione interjected.

"Yes, Kingsley can assure you - "

"Do you know about this sapsoon business, dad?"

"I've heard of it, yes. It's how most Buddhist wizards travel. We have a chamber in the Ministry for wizards who arrive through sapsoon."

"It sounds exciting." Hermione looked intrigued, but Ron blanched at the thought of Apparating underwater.

"Kingsley has been assisting your brother and I in this, Ron. He would not just put your lives in the hands of a stranger. This Chao fellow is a good friend," his dad assured.

"Ron, we'll be fine," Hermione whispered, leaning into his shoulder and lacing her fingers in his. Ron remained unconvinced. Percy's parchment made very clear that this was going to be much more of an adventure than either had originally thought. They would have to hike between villages in India and in Bulgaria. They would need maps. They would need to learn the area. Hermione's locator spells were wonderful, but he doubted they would help them out in a foreign country.

His mum seemed rather uncertain as well as they pored over the itinerary carefully. Every now and again she'd let out a little whimper or a comment about her boy going off to Siberia, but in general Ron thought the house seemed pleased to be preoccupied with something other than yesterday's funeral. The vast amount of food that remained was a vivid reminder of all the visitors that had flooded the house yesterday, but nobody commented on what a lovely service it was or who had said what. Ron focused on the piece of parchment and the directions he and Hermione would have to follow.

There was so much still to do. Hermione now wanted guidebooks on all the villages they would be traveling to, not just Australia, and insisted on journeying into the library in Ottery Saint Catchpole that morning. Ron wanted to go with her, but she insisted she would be fine on her own and that he needed to pack his rucksack. His mum chuckled at the way she reprimanded him, thoroughly amused when Hermione reminded him to bring enough underpants and a toothbrush. Charlie volunteered to accompany her to the library in Ron's stead, which made Ron nervous and he was no more relieved when Ginny offered to join as well.

"Don't you think the library in Henley would be better?" Ron tried to argue. "You said it's a bigger town. Besides, I don't know what to pack!"

"You'll be fine!" Hermione called back to him, a slight chuckle to her voice.

Ron hardly found it amusing. He could just picture Charlie revealing all the things he'd drunkenly confessed the other day. If Hermione ever learned how he'd stolen Harry's invisibility cloak and what he'd tried to do with it, he reckoned he'd never hear the end of it.

Despite the fact that he'd been briefed on the weather in Brisbane, he had little idea of what to pack. Dragging his rucksack out from where he'd stuffed it beneath his bed days ago, he did little more than stare at it for the first hour. He felt a bit like it was last August. He wasn't sure how long he'd be gone or what kind of clothes he would need to bring for their trip. It was easy enough throwing in jeans and t-shirts, but when he considered the fact that he and Hermione would be sharing a bedroom, possibly even a bed, the question of what to pack became more difficult.

"Feels a bit like déjà vu, doesn't it?" Harry's voice suddenly sounded from his open door. He stood awkwardly at the threshold and Ron wondered for a moment if he and Hermione had forgotten to get rid of the charms on the door.

"How's that?" he responded shortly.

"Being up in your room, packing for a trip." Harry shuffled inside, looking at the untidy pile of clothes.

"I suppose," Ron grunted. The details of the Portkeys had not made him forgot the rather loud row he'd had in the kitchen with Harry about the Malfoys.

"Look, I didn't want you to leave for Australia or for Henley without - "

"I'm not angry with you," Ron cut him off, though his tone indicated he wasn't exactly pleased with him either.

"If you don't want me to tell the truth, I won't," Harry blurted out. "I understand why it makes you angry."

"It should make you angry too!" Ron looked to Harry in horror. "What they did to us! To HER!"

"Hermione's okay with it."

"She says she's okay with it," Ron gritted through his teeth. Then he turned his attention back to his rucksack. "Look, I've got to pack."

"Ron - "

"We need to leave for Henley when she gets back so I have to be packed." He walked back and forth across the room, pretending to busy himself with clothes that he just threw from the wardrobe to the center of his room.

"Come on - "

"The seasons are backwards so it's like…November, there." He chose to ignore Harry's protests.

"Ron, I won't do it if you don't want me to," Harry repeated emphatically. Ron busied himself with folding Hermione's fancy jumper.

"Just make sure you tell everything," he finally muttered through clinched teeth. "How Draco threatened to kill us. How they locked us in the cellar. How they were perfectly fine turning her over to Greyback!" Ron gritted and punched two balled pairs of socks into his rucksack on top of the jumper.

"I will." Harry nodded his head firmly and sat down on the bed finally. They didn't say anything for a time. Both boys just sat there and looked at each other, Ron still standing by the rucksack and Harry up on the bed. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

"I killed him." He collapsed down on the bed beside Harry.

"Who?"

"Greyback. I'm the one who smashed his head in." Ron gave a twisted grin at the memory of dropping the hunk of masonry on the werewolf's skull.

"I saw you and Neville take him down, but I didn't think…"

"Yep." Ron let the word pop as he said the word ring around the room. "Killed him."

"Good." Harry surprised him by giving a simple shrug. "He deserved it."

"Yeah." Ron balled up another pair of socks. They were about the only thing he seemed capable of packing at the moment. "I reckon so." He'd been prepared to say more and defend his actions. He thought Harry might say more. His friend had always been deliberate about using disarming and stunning spells and not killing people. His nonchalance surprised him and for some reason Ron got to talking about the Malfoys again. "It's just…if they stay out of Azkaban…"

"I doubt they'll stay out of Azkaban," Harry replied. "I plan on telling everything. All the way back to Riddle's diary and the basilisk."

"But you know that's why she wants you at their trial. She's hoping it'll make her look good."

"One good act doesn't mean people forget all the bad," Harry replied.

"Doesn't it?" Ron's disgust was obvious. "It seems like it did with Snape. You and Hermione talk about him like a fucking hero and forget the fact that he was a complete wanker for most of his life."

"That's different - "

"If that happens to the Malfoys, I don't think I could handle it. I really don't."

"They'll never be heroes," Harry remarked. "I promise you that."

"Right." Ron picked up two pairs of trousers, one with a hole just above the knee and the other with frayed bottoms, and laid them beside his rucksack. "I don't have a sodding clue what to pack." He finally gave a hopeless laugh.

"It's pretty brave of you, you know?" Harry looked to the chaos on Ron's floor. There were jumpers and t-shirts, pants and socks, jeans and jerseys all in a state of disarray.

"What?" Ron laughed as he looked to the dirty pile of pants he still had to wash. "Trying to pack?"

"Going to the other side of the world with her."

"I guess." Ron shrugged.

"I don't think I could spend that much time alone with Ginny."

"Really?" Ron frowned at Harry and looked to him curiously. His sister and Harry had been inseparable at the end of last year's spring term. He figured his best mate would give his left bollock to go on a trip alone together with her.

"She's brilliant, don't get me wrong but… that's a lot of time with just the two of you. All by yourselves."

"I reckon so," Ron replied awkwardly. "That's the idea though, innit?"

"I think I'd need some alone time after a while," Harry confessed and blew out a loud sigh. He got to his feet then and walked across the room, rubbing his head where the hair stood in back like he did whenever he was uncomfortable. "Have you talked to her at all?"

"To who?"

"Hermione, you twat." He walked back over and handed Ron a stack of t-shirts from atop the dresser that Hermione had neatly folded days ago.

"A bit."

"You're never going to talk to her," Harry laughed and shook his head.

"I will. I just…"

"You'll give her one before you ever have an honest conversation!"

"We have honest conversations," Ron replied defensively. "And how do you know I haven't already?"

"Haven't what?"

"Given her one," Ron scoffed.

"Cause you wouldn't get so bloody embarrassed every time someone suggested you had," Harry stated surely. Ron tried to keep a straight face, but ended up bursting into laughter the same as Harry. "You'll have to give me a bit of time when you do start shagging, you know?"

"Oh, piss off."

"I'll get used to it eventually, of course. Probably by the wedding."

"What are you going on about?" Ron snorted.

"I won't ever want to hear about it, but I'll get used to it eventually.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to get used to it." Ron laughed at his friend's ramblings. This was how it would be now. They were all right. Harry would laugh and take the mickey and it would be all right. "You'll talk to her though?" Harry finally asked.

"Eventually, yeah."

"Before you leave for Australia?"

Ron glanced down at his watch. In a little less than twenty-four hours he and Hermione would be catching the first Portkey. First they'd leave for Henley. They'd put her house in order. Then they'd be back here. Then they'd be gone at last.

"Eventually."


	19. Chapter 19

Though Ron was not at all looking forward to traveling around a Muggle village, he was rather excited to see Hermione's home. Her house was the only one neither he nor Harry had ever seen, but he already knew a fair amount about it. He knew she lived on a place called Stuart Avenue three blocks from the library. He knew her house was brick and her room overlooked a birch tree. He knew her neighbors had an Airedale Terrier named Wilson who Crookshakes terrorized over summer holiday. He knew there was a seat by the window in her bedroom where she'd curled up to read Hogwarts: A History for the first time. He knew little things about her home, but he was anxious to see it. He felt a bit like when he'd gone off to Hogwarts for the first time. He'd heard such amazing things about it and had even pictured it in his mind, but he was ready to finally experience it for himself.

With his entire family looking on, they apparated straight from the garden. Ron took Hermione's hand in his and the next thing he knew they were in a tiny clearing, barely six feet in diameter, surrounded by overgrown bushes.

"Quite a spot," Ron remarked, brushing the brambles out of his hair.

"I used to practice magic here," Hermione remarked wistfully looking around the tiny clearing. "When my parents would take me down to the marsh meadow I'd hide here and practice." Ron pictured her sitting cross-legged, transfiguring rocks and flowers and couldn't help but smile.

"You think anyone heard us?" He knew Hermione was quite skilled in apparition and her soft pop could be mistaken for any number of other sounds, but the thought of apparating into a Muggle area made him nervous anyway. They'd done it more than a few times while traveling around all of Britain looking for horcruxes and had too many close calls. A Muggle had spotted them outside what used to be Wool's Orphanage and Hermione had had to confund the man to prevent him from causing a disturbance. Another time, he and Hermione had appeared from beneath the invisibility cloak in what they believed to be an empty car park. The shopper they came across had been so frightened to see them suddenly appear she'd dropped a whole carton of eggs onto the pavement.

"We're all right." She assured him, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. "Just remember to hide your wand." She carefully stowed hers in the beaded bag she had back around her shoulder. Ron couldn't deny it felt odd to be traveling with the bag again. It felt odd to be traveling again, period, even if he knew they'd be back to the Burrow by supper time. "And don't put it in your jeans," she scolded as he immediately made to stuff it into his back pocket. "You just got it back. That's just asking to lose it again."

"I've nowhere else to put it!" he replied defensively.

"Don't you have a wand pocket?"

"Not in this jacket." Ron shoved his hands in the exterior pockets.

"I can put it in the bag."

"No," Ron snapped immediately at the thought of relinquishing his wand.

"We'll be all right," she assured, touching his hand gently. He looked down at the willow wand clutched protectively in his hand. He knew when they stepped out from the bushes that they wouldn't be on the run, looking out for Death Eaters over their shoulder. He was taking Hermione home, helping her rebuild the life she'd sacrificed and left behind. "We'll be fine," she whispered again and offered him a brave smile. Ron relented, slipping the wand up his sleeve and clamping his fingers over the end of the end so it didn't fall out.

To anyone who saw them emerge from the bushes hand-in-hand, they looked like nothing more than two young lovers who had just had a romp in the grass. In fact, the first woman they passed on the path must have caught them climbing out from behind the branches because she eyed the two scandalously and gave them an admonishing glare. Hermione flushed at the implication. Ron tried hard not to laugh.

"Think anyone will recognize you?" he queried.

"It's a big town."

"Right."

"And I haven't really lived here in ages."

"Right." Ron squeezed her hand as he looked around the quaint banks of the river. It wasn't very wide and Ron found it hard to believe this was the same Thames that flowed through London. It was all so green. Trees and branches hung over the river edge and small cottages and stately homes lined the banks. Two strapping young men came flying down the river, perched precariously atop a boat so thin it almost looked like they were floating. "What's that?"

"They're rowing," Hermione informed. "Henley's famous for its rowing."

"Where are they trying to get to?"

"Nowhere, they're just practicing."

"Practicing for what?"

"For a competition, I suppose. It's a sport. They race," Hermione explained. Ron eyed the muscular young men out on the river and, for some reason, moved closer to Hermione.

"Doesn't seem very exciting," he argued for no particular reason. Hermione merely laughed.

"I suppose compared to Quidditch, it's not. Come on then." She hastened her stride and continued down the river path. There were empty picnic benches all along the path and small boats lining the banks of the river. He could just picture Hermione here having a picnic lunch with her parents beside the river. If he looked ahead he could see the outline of the town, including a rather large cathedral and a quaint stone bridge. His eyes drank in the sight of the river banks and the marsh meadow he knew she'd played and explored as a child.

"Are you nervous?" Ron asked softly as they neared the town center. They were beginning to pass more people along the path now.

"I used the same enchantments we used on the tent." Her voice waivered even though Ron knew she was trying to sound confident. "And those seemed to work, right?"

"I mean nervous being out like this," Ron murmured hesitantly, making it all too obvious that he was the nervous one.

"We're fine," she assured yet again.

But Ron didn't feel fine. He continually spun around to the left and right as they walked down the river path, eyeing everyone that passed them. The silver-haired man who walked briskly by them in a three piece suit easily could have a wand stowed in one of his coat pockets. The car that Hermione explained had simply done something called backfiring sounded an awful lot like somebody apparating. Hermione rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb as a plump woman with a baby stroller slowly walked down the path. Ron's hand gripped Hermione's tightly as he eyed both the woman and the inside of the stroller carefully. The woman just eyed him back daringly, a challenging glint to her eye. Ron bristled.

"I don't like being here," he admitted nervously. "Can't we just apparate to your house?"

"What's wrong?"

"I just – I don't really want to be out with people," he confessed. "Out like this…it feels weird."

"I know, but we have to get used to it," she replied kindly.

"I've never liked being out in Muggle places," he admitted, a touch of embarrassment to his voice.

"It's my home." Hermione sounded a bit hurt by his admission.

"I know, but I've always felt out of sorts and now after everything…I just – I don't like being here." Hermione slowed to a halt and looked to Ron, comprehension dawning on her face.

"Nothing's going to happen."

"What about those blokes on the river?" He scuffed the toe of his shoe in the dirt. "They were looking at you."

He could see Hermione look to him skeptically, even with his eyes downcast and staring at the pebbled pathway. "Well, they were."

"We have to go into town," she informed him. "And when we do people…might look at you."

"Why?" Ron looked down at his clothes nervously. Hermione had picked them all out for him. He was wearing jeans, a thick brown belt, a white t-shirt, and a navy blazer of Bill's. "I look all right, don't I?"

"You look better than all right." Hermione reached to brush the hair out of his face and looked to him admiringly. "You look really fit." Ron blushed and mumbled something about taking the mickey. "You can't take a compliment, can you?" Hermione laughed and moved her hand up to stroke his arm gently.

"I could say the same thing about you." It was her turn to blush then and she just squeezed his hand and continued walking.

"Come on." She led him further down the path. The great tower of the cathedral that Ron guessed marked the center grew nearer. "If you're good, I'll even show you the ice cream shop."

"Yes, mum," he replied in a teasing tone. She turned to swat him with her free hand, feigning anger. Laughing, he ducked to avoid it and just like that, he forgot to be nervous.

Her house, Ron decided, was exactly like Hermione. There was nothing striking about the plain brick home compared to the other homes on the street. There was ivy climbing up one side, a brick wall that lined the sidewalk and a small garden. Everything about it was rather average, from the shrubs that surrounded the house to the one car garage. Nevertheless, Ron couldn't help but look at it and think it was beautiful. This was the home that had formed Hermione. The place that had made her the person she was when she arrived on the Hogwarts Express and proceeded to tell Harry everything she already knew about him.

"So, er, it looks all right," he remarked dumbly. He wasn't sure if that was the response Hermione wanted to hear or not.

They'd had a grand old time in Henley so far. They'd walked past a shop that sold riverboat tours and the clothing store where she'd bought his fancy jumper fifth year. He'd seen the ice cream shop and the town library where Hermione had informed him she'd spent many a morning and afternoon. He'd seen her primary school and she'd pointed down the road to the College she would have attended if she had never gotten her Hogwarts letter. She'd been downright bubbly when she'd shown him the sweet shop her parents only let her go in twice a year and the museum her dad took her to on weekends. But the closer they got to her house, the quieter she had grown. Ron suspected she had, in fact, taken as indirect a path as possible as he was quite sure they'd gone around several blocks when they could have just gone straight. "Is it – er - how you left it?"

"From here, yes," she remarked hesitantly. "It looks like the charms held up." She looked up the front of the house to a bedroom that Ron guessed was hers.

"I'll keep watch if you want to take them down, eh?" He turned his back to keep an eye on the street as Ron heard her mutter the familiar incantations. He gave her hand a squeeze when she finished and swung open the gate to travel up the front steps with her.

He recalled how she told him how Professor McGonagall had delivered her Hogwarts letter seven years ago. He chuckled to himself imagining McGonagall standing on this very stoop in her pointed black hat. He wondered what kind of a shock it had been for her parents. He wondered if it would rival the shock they would get in a few days when Hermione found them and explained what she had done to keep them safe.

With hands trembling, Hermione reached into the bag and pulled out a tiny silver key wrapped in brown paper that she had apparently stowed away these many months. She fit the key into the lock and turned. Ron heard the door click, but she made no move to force it open.

"Come on, Hermione." He moved his hand over hers and repeated her words from down along the Thames, turning the door handle for her. "You'll be fine."

He readied himself for the worst, chairs overturned and cushions torn apart. He at least expected to open the door and see a deserted home, dusty floors, cobwebs, and empty shelves that would take them all afternoon to clean up. But 136 Stuart Avenue looked just as if the Grangers had left for a day trip to London. There were still paintings on the wall and throw pillows on the sofa.

"Hermione, how the ruddy - "

"I confounded them," Hermione cut him off, sounding deeply shamed. "After the memory charm, they were a bit confused, see. I made them think they'd sold me all the furniture and I was renting the house." He saw her look around the sitting room sadly. "I did it in stages, see." She collapsed down on the sofa. Ron was shocked to see no clouds of dust rose up from the cushion like they had when his family had arrived at the Burrow.

"How do you mean?"

"First, I planted the Australia idea. They had to close their practice here and take care of things when they were still David and Emily Granger. That way they could tell the rest of my family they were leaving and it wouldn't – I wouldn't have to do anything to my grandparents," she informed. "The next step was changing their identities. I had to modify all their documentation then and their licenses," she blew out a loud sigh. "It wasn't very hard. I used a Geminio charm and then altered them a bit, quite like the galleons with the D.A."

"That's brilliant magic, Hermione." Ron looked to her in amazement.

"By then the neighbors were starting to ask questions so I - I had to confund them as well." Ron could see she looked deeply ashamed. "And then the last bit…" She inhaled sharply and Ron saw her eyes fix on an empty picture frame up on the mantle. He wondered if it used to contain a picture of her. "The last bit was removing me." She wiped at her eyes though Ron couldn't see any tears falling. "It was easy, really, compared to the other parts, taking me out." She twisted her face into a crooked smile now as her eyes fixed on the empty picture frame. There was another photo of Hermione's parents along the shoreline that Ron thought looked very much like it was missing someone from the center. He wondered how Hermione's charm had even worked, how she could even pull out eighteen years of memories from someone's head.

"How'd you manage to keep everything so neat?" Ron looked around the house, thinking of how the Burrow was in such disarray after only one month without any inhabitants.

"It's a preservation charm. Custodia Incantatum. Quite handy really, if you want to tell your mum. It was a bit hard to find. I owled Madame Pince over the summer and asked if she could send me a book for a bit of spellwork. I found it when I was researching the memory charms. "

"Blimey, Hermione, I never realized how much you had to do," Ron murmured, almost feeling ashamed for not doing more. Disguising the ghoul seemed terribly simple considering all the arrangements Hermione had had to make and the steps she had to take. Ron felt a pang deep in his chest that she'd had to do most of it alone. He'd sent a letter with Pig once back in July, but that had been all. He vowed to himself to get better at letter writing.

"It's how I spent most of my summer before I came to the Burrow," she shrugged. "I knew I couldn't help Harry if I didn't know they were safe."

"Well, you succeeded there." Ron attempted to cheer her before she grew too forlorn. He gazed around the sitting room. "Your parents are probably sunning themselves on a beach right now and your house looks perfect."

"Do you want to see the rest of it?" she inquired suddenly.

"The rest of it?"

"My house. Do you want to see…" She paused for a moment and looked to him uncertainly, licking her lips. "Do you want to see my bedroom?"

"Sure." Ron's voice came out more like a squeak as she got up from the sofa and took him by the hand.

He was reminded of that morning no more than a week ago he'd led her by the hand up to the boy's dormitories. She seemed eager to show him her room and the melancholy mood from downstairs lifted slightly, even as they walked past more photos that had odd empty spaces in them where he knew Hermione used to be. He wasn't surprised to see there were no stickers, no letters, no words marking the entry to her bedroom like on the front of his door. There was just a plain white door, the other side of which just happened to be a place he had wondered about for the better part of a decade.

He was struck, as soon as the door swung open, by the very Muggle nature of the room. There were no Gryffindor banners, no moving pictures. There was a corkboard full of Muggle photos, a bookshelf of Muggle books, a Muggle desk with Muggle contraptions and unmoving Muggle paintings that hung on the wall. The walls were a plain shade of lilac that oddly enough reminded him of Gilderoy Lockhart's robes. The color was surprisingly feminine as was the simple floral pattern on her bed and for some reason the sight of it made him smile.

"What?" she asked, clearly noting his smile.

"Nothing," Ron dismissed, the smile still not leaving his face as his eyes surveyed the rest of the room. There was a framed photo beside her bed that caught his eye. He and Hermione were with Harry on the platform at King's Cross, loaded up with all their belongings, looking less than enthused to be posing for the picture. The photo reminded him how Hermione's parents were always patiently waiting for her on the other side of the platform when they returned from a year at Hogwarts, often with Muggle camera in hand and eager to give both him and Harry a hug.

"My parents don't let me put up real photos – our photos, I mean," she explained. "They love them. Dad thinks they're brilliant; he's just worried about, you know, someone seeing them." She sat down on the bed and opened up the topmost drawer of her bedside table. "But I keep them all here." She pulled out a brown envelope that contained a loose assortment of wizarding photos. He leafed through Yule Ball pictures, snapshots from a fifth year trip to Hogsmeade and photos taken at the end of term feast.

"How much do they know?" he asked, pausing at a photo he remembered Colin taking of him and Hermione in the hospital wing fifth year. Hermione was, of course, reading a book and Ron's bed was laden with sweets.

"I keep them informed." She took the photo from him, sounding a bit indignant at the suggestion that she kept them in the dark.

"How informed?" Ron queried and he held up the picture of them in the hospital. "Did they know about this?"

"They knew Voldemort was back and they knew his policy about Muggle borns." Ron couldn't help but notice she didn't answer his question.

"So you told them a lot then?"

"Just enough to keep them safe." She took the picture from his hand and her eyes fixed on it then. The welts on Ron's forearms were still shockingly bright and Hermione was a bit paler than usual. "If they'd known about this…what happened to me – to all of us…they'd never have let me come back."

"How much do they know about me?" he changed the conversation quite suddenly as he looked to a photo of him in his Quidditch uniform. There was nobody else in the picture. It was just him and his broom, taken after their victory over Ravenclaw last spring. Ron wasn't entirely sure who'd taken the photo or how Hermione had gotten it. It looked a bit worn around the edges.

"What do you mean about you? They've been hearing about you since first year. I called you the mean ginger boy who wasn't very good at magic and talked with his mouth full."

"Ah, yes, as opposed to the incredibly handsome ginger boy who's quite skilled at magic and exceptionally good at snogging," Ron teased and edged toward her playfully for a kiss.

"I never said you were good at snogging," she laughed haughtily and squirmed away from him. Ron continued to pursue her, trying for a kiss wherever he could land one. She scrambled backwards and he followed suit until they were both lying on the bed in a position Ron was quite sure Mr. Granger would not approve of. Hermione seemed to be thinking the same thing, but she didn't wriggle out from beneath him. She just smiled and moved a hand up to his face, touching him gently.

"Thank you for coming with me."

"Of course," Ron laughed at the absurd notion that he wouldn't accompany her. They'd hardly done anything apart since leaving Hogwarts. The thought that he would let her make this difficult trip alone was laughable.

"It feels a bit strange being here," she confessed quietly. "Back home, I mean. It doesn't even feel like it's mine."

Her words reminded Ron of the moment days ago when he'd stood in the doorway of his childhood bedroom and felt like a stranger. He remembered how glad he had been that she was there with him as he looked at the foreign Cannons quilt and low ceiling.

"It'll feel like home again." The words felt like a lie coming from his lips. He still didn't feel like he was home back at the Burrow. He still had that same awkward feeling he'd had when he sat in the Great Hall nearly a week ago, the feeling that he wasn't quite sure where home was anymore.

"What if it doesn't?" Hermione whispered worriedly from beneath him.

"It will," he reaffirmed, tenderly combing the hair off her face and behind her ear. "It's just…an adjustment that's all."

"You know mum always asked me when you and Harry were coming to visit." Hermione spoke suddenly, rolling her head back and looking at the picture of the three of them at King's Cross. "After a while she stopped asking about Harry."

"Does she not like Harry?" Ron frowned, completely missing her point.

"She likes Harry just fine," she laughed at his apparent cluelessness. "I just mean she knows…it's different with you," she explained. Ron wanted to laugh at her vague choice of words. It was different with him. It had always been different. He suddenly recalled all the times Hermione had flung her arms around Harry when saying goodbye and only given him a wave. "I think she caught on before I even did," Hermione laughed, seeming to be recalling the same memories.

"And your dad?" Ron asked, a bit more fearfully. He'd only ever met the Grangers in brief moments at King's Cross or Diagon Alley. He'd never actually had a full conversation with either of them and though Mr. Granger seemed nice enough, his dad told him dentists were widely feared in the Muggle world.

"My dad knows that you're one of my best friends." She curled up against him like they had done yesterday in Ginny's room. Only this time Ginny obviously wasn't there to break them apart. The act of her resting her head on his chest still set his heart aflutter, but he loved that it was becoming second-nature to both of them, as was the intimate way she entwined her legs with his. "I don't think he ever considered you as being anything more. Honestly, I think he still thinks of me as being ten years old sometimes."

"I'm not sure that's such a good thing for me," Ron grimaced, thinking about how his mum and dad still treated Ginny.

"He's always liked you." She patted his chest and assured with another laugh.

"Even last year?" he asked uncertainly.

"What about last year?"

"You didn't – er – you didn't say anything about me and Lavender?"

"I didn't," she replied quietly. "Not to my dad at least."

"But your mum? She knows that I - "

"Dated another girl? Yes, she figured out rather quickly when I only ever talked about Harry in my letters and told her I didn't care to pay you a visit over Christmas holiday."

"Does she hate me?" Ron asked glumly, knowing how his mum would react if a boy had treated Ginny in the same manner he had treated Hermione.

"Hate you for what?"

"For…well, for y'know…" Ron thought about Lavender's words in the hospital room. "Being with her Lavender and - and-"

"Breaking my heart?" she completed the sentence for him, the slightest edge to her voice. He nodded his head and looked up to her, hoping she would assure him that he had done no such thing. Those words had haunted him ever since Lavender said them. He spent so much of his energy trying to please Hermione and protect her, he wanted to curse himself for being such an insensitive wart last year. "If I don't hate you for it, then she certainly doesn't," she stated coolly.

Ron felt his stomach fall at her words. So it was true. He hadn't just made her angry or made her sad. He wanted to tell her now how he hadn't been thinking, how Lavender had just been there and had fancied him and things had just happened.

"Mum likes you." She continued to lie on him, her fingers now tracing circles atop his chest. "She's asked me to have you over dozens of times." Ron opened up his mouth to speak on the matter, to explain to her how hearing from Ginny that she'd snogged Krum had set him off, but he could see from the way she was resting against him that now wasn't the time.

"I reckon this visit probably isn't one we should mention to her." He remarked as she kicked her shoes and nestled even closer to him.

Though she'd said it felt odd, Ron sensed being at home on her childhood bed gave her a sense of comfort that the Burrow couldn't provide. Truth was, being here gave him a sense of comfort. He liked looking around at Hermione's room, piecing together images of her childhood and her life as a Muggle before she came to Hogwarts.

He could gather from photos that she had been a member of some kind of group that required her to wear a brown uniform and yellow kerchief when she was a little girl. Next to the photo of her in the uniform was a sash adorned with a wide array of badges. Ron grinned at the sash, unsure of what it meant, but quite certain it denoted some kind of accomplishment. There were a handful of blue, red, and yellow ribbons on the borders of the cork board as well and a picture of a young Hermione on a fat grey pony. Then there were rows and rows of Muggle books with funny titles. There was a pad of Muggle paper and a case of Muggle pens. There wasn't the slightest hint that there was anything out of the ordinary about the room or the person who inhabited it. There were no quills, no parchment, no Hogwarts: A History, no oil lamp beside the bed.

He stroked her arm softly, recalling what Charlie had said about learning Muggle currency and taking Hermione out to the cinema. Whenever Hermione was at Hogwarts or back at the Burrow, it was easy for him to forget that she still lived in the Muggle world, if only a few months out of the year. The room he looked upon now was a vivid reminder that the term Muggle-born was more than just a title. It was a part of who she was. He looked again at the sash and the ribbons and the books and the Muggle items he didn't understand He suddenly wished he'd chosen to take Muggle Studies third year or at least bothered to talk to his dad more about all the artifacts in the garage. Maybe if he'd had he would understand what the square black contraption and the small thin plastic cases on her desk were.

Hermione's breaths grew slower against him and as he glanced down to her he saw her eyes were closing. He knew they had to return to the Burrow by nightfall, but the notion of a kip right here with her beside him was too inviting. So he stretched his legs out along the bed and closed his eyes as well.

When he opened them up again, the light outside her bedroom window was much fainter and he could see the streetlamps outside were lit. Hermione's head was still resting on his chest, but her eyes were open and she was peering up at him with a smile.

"You were tired."

"Well, I lied this morning back at the Burrow." He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. "I really didn't get much sleep last night."

"Are you having trouble sleeping?" She wrinkled her brow in concern. Ron couldn't help but think about his conversations with Harry about talking to Hermione.

"Not with you around," he murmured lazily, sliding both hands low around her waist and ignoring Harry's advice.

"You like my bed then?"

"Well I like your bed when you're on it," he growled playfully, crushing her to him in a tight and playful hug. Hermione just laughed against him, her face pressed firmly against his chest. "I like it here," he stated. "At your house."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He gave her another squeeze, wondering for a brief moment just how much of his future would play out in this bedroom and this house.

"I was thinking we could run up to the chip shop and bring back a couple of fish suppers," she suggested, indicating she had no desire to leave anytime soon either.

"I would, but I told mum we'd be back for supper at the Burrow, remember? Since it's our last night and all."

"Right." She nodded her head, doing a poor job to disguise her disappointment. "Right, since it's our last night."

"But when we bring your parents back in a couple of days, I'll run up to the chip shop for you," he promised with a smile. "It can be your parents' first meal back from Australia." The bold promise made him wonder just how far off that first meal would be and if Hermione could see through his smile.

Ron knew they had their work cut out for them. Though they had figured out the details of the portkeys and packed most of their belongings, there were large gaps in the details of their journey to the Southern Hemisphere. As it wasn't official Ministry business, they'd had a difficult time getting in touch with the High Ministry in Australia. Hermione's trip to the library in Ottery St. Catchpole this morning while Ron packed hadn't yielded as much as she had hoped either in locating dental practices. They still weren't allowed back into Gringott's and although Hermione assured him the money she'd withdrawn last summer would be okay, she hadn't sounded very positive it would get them far. This wasn't going to be as simple a mission as he'd first assumed.

"Can we stay here a while longer?" she asked hopefully. Ron knew they had to return for supper eventually, but he didn't even bother looking at his wristwatch. He just tightened his arm around her and nestled closer.

"Of course. I said I like it here," he reminded.

He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly he liked so much about her room, whether it was the warm lilac walls or the smiling pictures of the three of them that had survived her memory charm. Or maybe it was simply that this wasn't the Burrow. Perhaps the reason he liked it so much was simply that it wasn't his home. He thought about his conversations with Harry. Harry, who reminded him more of Dumbledore every day than his best friend, and was now an odd voice of reason. Harry, who seemed at peace and content in a way Ron desperately envied. Perhaps there was a reason for that. Perhaps there was some truth to Harry's advice.

"Am I a terrible person for not wanting to be at home?" he blurted out suddenly. He could see Hermione was caught off-guard by the out-of-the-blue inquiry.

"What?"

"I hate being at home. I hate being around my family - "

"Don't say hate, Ron."

"Well, I don't like it," he corrected with a loud sigh. "I don't like anything about being at home," he continued. "I think that's the reason I like it here so much. Because here…I don't think about him."

Him.

The word almost seemed to echo around the room. Aside from a few brief mentions, he wasn't someone Ron had voluntarily talked about at all in the last week. He saw Hermione slowly train her eyes on him, unsure of what he was going to say.

"It's like you said yesterday. You're right. When we're together, I don't think about anything else. I don't think about him," he confessed hurriedly, like if he took too long to say the words they wouldn't come out right. "Except I do." His voice trembled slightly and he fixed his eyes on the ceiling as he spoke. If he looked at her it would just make this all harder. "I do think about him because I think about the fact that I'm not thinking about him. Is that completely mental?" Ron didn't even give her time to answer. "I think about you and how gorgeous you are and how much I want you all the time and the things I want to do to you," he blurted out without even thinking, his eyes finally dropping down to her. He saw Hermione blush, but he was pleased to see that she met his gaze and did not look away at the intimate confessions. "And I feel guilty."

"Ron, you shouldn't - "

"But I do. I feel guilty that I'm not thinking about him."

"You shouldn't feel - "

"Don't tell me what I should feel." He gave an exasperated sigh and sat up on the bed abruptly. "I can't stand when you tell me what I should feel."

"I - I didn't mean it like - " Hermione offered a weak protest to keep him on the bed with her, but he got to his feet.

"Every time you say it, it makes me feel worse – like I'm doing this wrong."

"That's not what I mean!" Hermione's voice was high and shrill, like it always was before she got upset. "I don't mean to make you feel wrong - "

"Well, you do!" he thundered, unsure how they'd gone from lying peacefully on her bed to this. He hated this. He hated how quickly he could spiral into this anger. He hated that it happened so often. He hated that it felt like he had no control. He felt like he still had the locket on. "First you say I'm not normal then you say I should be and I don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling or how I'm supposed to act - "

"But that's just it," Hermione appealed, "all I'm trying to tell you is that…however you feel is completely fine because there IS no normal for something like this."

"I want to find the resurrection stone," Ron blurted out suddenly and he watched her face immediately soften into that pitiful expression he hated seeing so much.

"Oh, Ron."

"Harry dropped it in the forest and I know how I can find it and I want to go look for it and find it and bring him back." Ron was amazed at how good it was to say the words out loud to her. "I want to bring him back. I have to bring him back." Hermione didn't speak at first, but he heard her swallow loudly and collect herself before replying softly.

"He's gone, Ron. You can't ever bring him back."

"I can!" he snapped. "If I find the stone, I can bring him back." Just hearing his words echo around the small room made him realize how ridiculous they sounded, but he didn't care. "Because it's not fair!" His voice shook. "It's not fair that people like the fucking Malfoys are alive and Fred's not!"

"It's not fair," Hermione agreed quietly, not even bothering to correct his language.

"So he can come back! I can use the resurrection stone because it's not right. It's some kind of mistake. He wasn't ready to go!" Ron fired, his voice wavering even more.

"Ron - "

"You're wrong!" Ron cut her off before she could even offer a protest.

"It's okay to be angry." She spoke calmly. Every muscle in his face was now quivering as he paced about the room. He felt the stinging in his nose, the moistness in his eyes, the tightening of his throat, the same things he'd felt so many times this week. Only this time he simply didn't feel like fighting against it any more. He was so sick of fighting it. His cheeks and his throat and his entire face hurt from fighting it so long. "And it's okay to cry if you want," she offered quietly, seeming to detect the internal struggle he'd had all week. She watched him stiffen defiantly at her words. He hadn't shed any tears since the moments after the explosion when she had to wrestle him away. He'd made a point not to. "You can cry, Ron," she assured, her own voice waivering.

Ever so slowly, his whole body weakened at her words. His jaw went slack, his knees buckled and he dropped down onto the edge of the bed beside her. His anger quickly faded, replaced instead by a dull hollow ache he'd desperately tried to keep buried all week.

"I just want him back." He kept his head bent over so she couldn't see the tears that were already forming in his eyes. "I'd do anything just to bring him back."

"I know." She looked to him sympathetically, his angry words from minutes ago thankfully all but forgotten. She couldn't see his tears fall directly onto the carpet in big fat drops, but his muffled sniffles gave him away. Somehow he made no effort to hold it in.

"I can't believe he's gone." His voice broke as he said the words and a single sob wracked his body.

The foreign sound of him crying seemed to paralyze Hermione at first. She looked to him hesitantly, likely recalling how he'd reacted the last time she'd shown him any kind of pity or sympathy yesterday morning. She took in a deep breath and reached out to pull his body close to her. There was no fighting back. The anger was long gone. He fell against her immediately and his round shoulders shook with another fierce sob.

Then came another heavy sob and another.

She shuddered at the feeling of his chest heaving against her. "I just can't believe he's gone," he repeated. His face was now buried against her and his tears beginning to soak her shirt. It was a breakdown of epic proportions and one Hermione hardly seemed prepared for.

She held him tightly and smoothed down his hair. Ron could feel her lips press against his scalp over and over. Each time she kissed him atop the head he tried to pull himself together, but he failed miserably and only broke into louder, more unrestrained sobs.

Fred was gone. Not gone. Dead. His brother was dead. For so long he'd held the hope of the resurrection stone in the back of his mind. He had hoped that Harry would understand and would help him. Not to bring Fred back forever, just to let him say goodbye. But he knew it was folly.

He would never see Fred again.

That was all his brain could process. He'd never see his face, never hear him tell a joke, never haggle with him over the price of an item in his store. Ron felt his chest tighten as he thought about how Fred never got to see Voldemort defeated. He never got to see that his death hadn't been in vain. He never got to see him kiss Hermione, the best thing that could ever happen to him. The heavy sobs, the ones that had threatened at his funeral as he'd watched the coffin lowered, came one after the other, almost seeming to choke him at times. He couldn't stop even if he'd wanted to.

"It's okay." Hermione continued to soothe in a soft reassuring tone as his shoulders heaved with each ragged breath. Her own eyes welled with tears as he continued to come undone against her.

He nestled closer to her and inhaled the scent he'd come to love that was so distinctly Hermione, the scent he'd drunkenly confessed to Charlie at the pub. Her hands, still woven in his hair, rested at the back of his head. He reveled in the feel of their tender caress on his scalp and nudged closer to her with his long nose. The sobs slowly died in the back of his throat. His lips hovered dangerously close to her skin as he drew in one shaky breath after another. The rational side of him knew mixing his wanton urges for Hermione with his grief for Fred was a bad idea, but he nuzzled closer against her regardless.

He raised his head up so his mouth lingered over the corner of hers. His warm breath on her face caused her to speak his name softly. It didn't sound like a protest and so despite what his brain said, he immediately closed the gap between them. She melted into the soft, yet demanding kiss, her breath traveling freely out of her mouth and into his.

The odd mixture of anguish and desire made his mind go blank. His kisses were hungry and different from any time he'd kissed her before. The commanding way his mouth crushed against hers indicated he was past asking permission. He was pleased to find she didn't resist when he hurriedly pressed her back down onto the bed. She let out a tiny noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan that Ron had never heard before as he kissed her with a desperate frenzy. He could feel her breasts crushed against his chest and his own heart pounding erratically against her. She didn't stop him when he pulled her shirt out from where it was tucked into her jeans or when he dug his fingertips into her bare skin, reaching and grabbing at her hungrily. His hands traveled all over her body, hovering places they never had before, feeling her bum, her thighs, even briefly between her legs. His ragged breathing became a pant.

He could hear her own breath quickening as well and he thought he heard her gasp his name. The sound of it, real or imagined, only encouraged him. He made no effort to keep his weight off of her or to keep the bulge that quickly formed between his legs from pressing into her thigh. In fact, he used his knee to nudge her legs apart and allow him to settle more comfortably against her. He hadn't lain atop her like this since the other day in her room. This time, he made no effort at withdrawing to hide the hardness and she didn't withdraw either. There was a genuine heat between their two bodies as his hips began moving against her in a motion that was both new and somehow familiar at the same time. He didn't want to kiss her anymore. All he could think about was how amazing it would feel to be rid of these layers of clothes.

"No," she murmured suddenly, her voice no more than a breathy whisper. "Stop."

"Why stop?" His voice was unnaturally low and husky. Though he heard her words, she wasn't exactly protesting. He could feel her body moving with him. Everything about this felt right. He couldn't even remember what he'd been upset about.

"Because, no." Her voice was much more forceful now and she writhed beneath him.

"Why no?" he asked breathily and continued moving against her suggestively. He could feel the heat between them and he desperately wanted to feel more of it. His hand traveled down her body and he halted the movement of his hips only to unfasten the button of her trousers and slide his hand down.

"Ron!" She shouted then and seized him around the wrist before his hand could move any further south. "Quit it!"

"What?" he replied dumbly from his position atop her while she stayed his hand.

"You're upset." She held her other hand to his chest firmly, as if to make sure he stayed there.

"I'm not upset," he replied dumbly, well aware that there were streaks down his face and her shirt was wet with his tears.

"You were crying," she reminded him of the breakdown she had just witnessed. For some reason he was annoyed that what she was choosing to talk about was the fact that he'd openly wept like a baby in front of her and not what had just played out on her bed. Merlin's Beard, he'd tried to stick a hand down her pants. A wave of guilt rushed over him as he recalled how she'd had to tell him three times to stop. He groaned and collapsed against her. He was that guy, that boyfriend he warned Ginny about who only wanted one thing.

He had no idea what he was supposed to say. Snogging Hermione had become second nature over the last week, but he hadn't dare do much but kiss her. Truthfully, he didn't really mind so much. He remembered getting bored of kissing Lavender after about a week, but with Hermione he felt like they could do nothing but kiss for twenty-four hours straight and he'd still want to kiss her some more. That didn't mean he hadn't thought about doing more with her though. The insinuations from his family and his conversation with George and Harry hadn't helped either.

"Ron," Hermione suddenly spoke his name and attempted to wriggle out from beneath him. "Ron." When she spoke his name a second time, he detected a slight discomfort in her voice and Ron suddenly realized it was because he was still pressing into her.

"Sorry." He rolled off of her immediately, but the bulge was only that much more evident. Her cheeks were flushed a pale pink color and he was quite sure his were likely the same color as his hair as they both pulled themselves upright.

"It's okay." Her voice was no more than a squeak and her eyes wouldn't even look at him. "I mean, I understand. I know that you can't help it," she stammered. Ron almost smiled at the way she said it. He recognized she was doing her best to be rational and calm, but he knew it had freaked her out. There was quite a difference between innocent snogging in his bedroom and his erection staring her in the face.

"Do you want me to – er - " Ron grabbed a pillow to place over his lap and hide the obvious tent that was still pitched between his legs.

This marked the first time this had ever, quite literally, come up between them. The longer they sat there in silence, Hermione desperately trying to avoid looking at either him or the pillow, the more his embarrassment faded. He was quite confident she had liked some of what had just transpired on the bed. She hadn't objected when he'd first made to remove her shirt and her hips had been rising up against his. She hadn't been afraid of the bulge between his legs then. He wondered if perhaps it was the fact that, however temporarily, she had seemed to enjoy what had come over him that had her all nervous and stammering now. Perhaps it hadn't been his aggressive actions that had stopped her, but her own.

"I just think – I mean you're upset," she continued to sputter. Ron tried not to show how much his interest was piqued by the comment. Was she saying that if he hadn't been upset, it would have been okay? "We were talking about Fred and then you were crying and then…"

He bristled at the reminder of how he'd come undone against her, suddenly forgetting about the pillow on his lap, and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"We should probably go back to the Burrow." He was none too eager to dwell on what she had just witnessed. This hadn't been like crying behind the tapestry in the middle of the battle, this had been a complete breakdown, sobbing into her chest the way only his mum had ever seen.

"Ron." She looked to him sympathetically. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't think any less of you."

"I'm fine." He wiped his nose with his shirt-sleeve in embarrassment. He glanced down at the bed, eager to talk about something else, even though he knew deep down he couldn't dismiss what had just happened with an 'I'm fine'.

"You're not fine," she stated after a long pause. "You haven't been fine." Her voice was soft but firm and his only reply was his shoulders sagging in feeble acknowledgment. He should know better than to even try to hide from Hermione. He'd never been able to do it.

"It'll be a week, y'know," he mumbled finally. "A week tomorrow."

"It will be," she replied quietly.

"Feels like months."

"I know." She spoke even quieter.

"I miss him."

"I know." Now her voice was nearly a whisper and she reached across the bed and took his hand as she said the words.

He looked down at their joined hands, thinking about how much had changed in one week in a world without Fred. He was certainly more comfortable touching and kissing Hermione. That first kip up in the dormitories when he'd been unsure even about putting an arm around her seemed ages ago. They were a couple now, he supposed, a real couple. Yesterday's events had certainly seemed to solidify that. He was hers and she was his. Yet how much had actually changed between them? He recalled Harry's words, urging him to talk to her, as he gazed at her tiny hand wrapped around his. Both still bore the scars and burns from their actions nearly a week ago.

"I miss him so much," Ron offered then, leaning back to rest against the headboard. She sat back with him, seeming to suddenly forget about the pillow in his lap. "It's like it's not right…being with you without having him there to take the piss."

"He certainly would have done that."

"I really wish…" Ron almost swallowed his confession in embarrassment. "I really wish he'd gotten to see us together."

"So he could say horribly inappropriate things?" Hermione laughed.

"Yeah." Ron actually managed a smile. "I wish he'd gotten to see…I did something right, you know?" His eyes fixed on Hermione at the words.

"You've done plenty right, Ron Weasley." She raised their joined hands to her mouth and kissed his scarred knuckles tenderly. His eyes closed instinctively at the feel of her lips on his skin, but the action jerked him back to the reality of what had just transpired on her bed mere minutes ago and what he'd tried to do.

"Not today." His voice was thick with guilt as he glanced down to the button of her jeans that were still unfastened.

"That's – you were upset -" She sounded far too much like she was making excuses for him and Ron bristled at her words, as if being upset were the only explanation for why he'd acted like he had.

"It's because I want you," he blurted out then. Somehow he wasn't even embarrassed to say them. It's not like it was any mystery after the last week of hanging off her lips and begging for five more minutes alone in his bedroom. So he kept talking in a rare moment of unabashed honesty."I mean I want you like…in a way that's more than just snogging."

Several seconds passed and they felt like hours to Ron as he waited for her to respond. The longer she spent contemplating her response the more he worried he shouldn't have said it. He looked away from her, suddenly loathing himself for not just shutting up when he should have.

"I know." Her hand suddenly moved over his. The tender way she did it made him wonder whether it was pity or if she was echoing the same words, even if she couldn't say them out loud just yet. "But I think that it…" Her voice trailed away and Ron finally raised his head to look to her curiously. Were they really talking about 'it'? "I think it needs to be about more than just wanting someone," she phrased delicately. There was a long heavy pause. Ron was quite sure she was fishing for something more, for him to say something then. He was well aware what he could say, the words she was probably looking for, but he could not make them form on his lips.

"I don't think it's the kind of thing you think about," he replied instead.

"Well, there has to be a bit of forethought," she argued.

"There doesn't have to be." Ron thought about the charms George had informed him he could do two hours early.

"If you want to be responsible there should be."

"Right." Ron sighed. Forethought. Responsibility. This was Hermione, all right. Despite the way she had behaved moments ago on the bed, this was definitely still Hermione. "About before - I shouldn't have – I – I – I didn't meant to…push. I feel like a randy perv," he stumbled over an apology for his own aggressive behavior.

"You're not." Hermione laughed in assurance.

"I am."

"You're not."

"But I am.".

"I want you too," she blurted out before he could open his mouth to protest a third time. She bit her lip shyly as she said it, her cheeks flushing as Ron's eyes widened in surprise at the brazen confession. "Sometimes," she added hurriedly.

"Just sometimes?" He turned to her with raised eyebrows.

"Not when you're upset," she spoke firmly. "Not when you're hiding." There was that word again, but this time Ron didn't attempt to deny it.

"I'm not…hiding now."

"I know." Hermione smiled at him and she leaned over and kissed him once softly, as if to reward him. "I want you to be able to talk to me…like this." She spoke the words over his lips as she withdrew.

"Define talking," he mumbled, a playful curve to his mouth as he said the words and moved back toward her for a kiss.

"Ron," she spoke his name against his lips.

"Stopping." He withdrew almost immediately, eager to show her he'd learned from his earlier mistakes.

"I'm serious," she reprimanded. "We're together, you and me." Ron tried not to smile too broadly. The words sounded like heaven from her lips. "That means more than just snogging." He frowned and withdrew even further from her. Had he been that much of a prick this week that she thought that was all he wanted? He thought about her words this morning after his fight with Harry in the kitchen. I can't tell if you're really happy or really randy.

"I'm happy when I'm with you," he offered, then immediately cussed himself under his own breath. "No, that's not even it – fuck - I'm happy…because I'm with you," he corrected. "Like this." He looked down at their joined hands.

"Me too," she smiled.

"And I know – yesterday – about – it's just - I know I should have been with you. You asked me to come and I didn't." He looked down to the floral patterned quilt atop her bed.

"You were with George."

"Don't make excuses," he sighed wearily. "Please stop doing that. I fucked up."

"Don't say - "

"I messed up, whatever." He rolled his eyes at her objection to his language.

"But you were with George," she maintained.

"I messed up, Hermione," he repeated. "You asked me to stay with you and he ...he was your friend too."

"He was your brother."

"You're my…girlfriend." The words sounded so trivial when he said them. Lavender had been his girlfriend. Hermione was so much more than that, but he didn't know what else to call her. She was his rock. She'd always been his rock. Yet all week he knew he'd chosen himself.

There was so much more he wanted to say. Talking did feel good. Maybe not as good as what they'd been doing before on the bed, but he felt better, lighter somehow. There was a pink tint to Hermione's cheeks and it took her a moment to realize what had caused it. She liked hearing him call her his girlfriend. Despite all the very serious matters they had just been talking about, those few simple words and the admission that accompanied them seemed to be all that mattered to her. The corners of her mouth turned up as she chewed on her bottom lip, somehow managing to look quite pleased and quite embarrassed all at once.

He desperately wanted to kiss her again. He couldn't help but think about tomorrow night when they'd be all on their own for supper with no one to report to. He wondered where they would be sleeping and if he'd have to put a pillow on his lap then. He wondered if she was thinking about it too. What would they be doing tomorrow at this time? They would be in Australia already. Would they be looking for her parents already? Perhaps they'd be taking in the sights of Brisbane. He thought about her words about wanting him too and the way they'd collapsed onto the bed. Her eyes were still fixed on him. She looked a bit like she wanted to start kissing and fall back onto the bed again too. Eager to show her he could exercise forethought and responsibility, Ron tore his eyes from her and glanced down at his wristwatch.

"We should go." He cleared his throat and began to slide off the bed. "Mum's expecting us home by seven."

"Yes. Right. Don't want to keep her waiting." She stood up from the bed then. "Just have to get…a few things." He watched as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes and busied around the room, opening up drawers and sticking various books and papers into her bag. He didn't ask what she was doing or why she'd gotten up, he just watched her as she ran her hands through her hair over and over. It reminded him of the moment on the stairs days ago when she'd had to compose herself before returning to his family. She wanted him. Somehow everything else that had happened up in her bedroom, everything else they'd talked about paled in comparison to that one truth. He was smiling as he got up from the bed and held out his hand for her.

Apparating right from her room felt bizarre somehow. Something about the mixture of the very Muggle nature of her bedroom and her entire house with something so extraordinary as apparition made him feel funny. He reckoned he'd prefer to use the front door the next time he entered the Granger household and every time after that.

He didn't want to think about when they would return or how many days it would take. Nor did he want think about the circumstances that would surround Hermione's arrival back to Stuart Avenue. Those kind of thoughts consumed him if he dared to let them. Would Hermione spend the rest of her summer here with her parents? Would she return to the Burrow at all? Would her parents let her? Would her parents like him? They were the kind of thoughts that could keep him awake at night if he let them. When would he break the news to Hermione he did not plan to return to Hogwarts? For that matter, what would he do with himself if he wasn't at Hogwarts? He had never really given a thought to what he would do once he finished at Hogwarts. Truthfully, the thought terrified him, not just life after Hogwarts but a life, a whole year, without Hermione there by his side. He felt like a complete prat for thinking it. He would be that bloke that counted down the days until he saw her again, he already knew, who surprised her at Hogsmeade and kissed her seventeen times before finally leaving her side.

He watched her fold up an envelope and carefully stow it away in the beaded bag. Seeming to detect his gaze on her, she turned to him and smiled.

"What?"

"Just thinking," he shrugged as he picked himself up from the bed finally.

"About tomorrow?" she grinned and tucked in several more papers and envelopes that she pulled out of her drawer. Ron thought it looked as if some had paper Muggle money in them.

"Yeah." He managed a smile and joined her in the center of the room. "About tomorrow."


	20. Chapter 20

The string of expletives that loosed from his little sister's lips upon their arrival back to the Burrow made Hermione gasp in horror.

She threw all sorts of colorful phrases at him that made Ron wonder just what Neville and Seamus had taught his little sister this year. "Christ on a fucking bike, you plonker! Why didn't you just Apparate to your fucking room!" Ginny howled angrily, hopping up and down after dropping a heavy cauldron on it.

"See where I get it from?" Ron grinned, thoroughly amused by Hermione's surprise and, if he wasn't mistaken, disgust at his little sister's mouth. "See why I always tell you she's not so innocent?" Ginny muttered more insults toward her brother and grumbled about not being able to use magic outside of school for three more months and having to carry the heavy cauldron by hand. "We didn't mean to scare you," he pointed out in an attempt at an apology, but his sister just continued to glare at him.

"Just get inside," she grumbled and pointed to the house as she continued to massage her foot. "Everybody's been worried about you two."

"Why? We said we'd be back by supper." Ron glanced at his wristwatch.

"Didn't you read the Prophet?" Ginny grimaced as she lifted the cauldron back up and continued to haul it over to the paddock.

"No, we were in Henley, remember? They don't exactly sell the Prophet on every corner." Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, you ought to have read it," she informed from behind gritted teeth as she struggled to lift the cauldron to pour it into the pigs' trough.

"Would you help her?" Hermione prodded Ron, obviously noting the strain on Ginny's face to lift the heavy cauldron. Ron rolled his eyes, but obliged Hermione and walked over to assist his sister in emptying the cauldron into the pig trough. The pigs grunted appreciatively at the scraps and Ron looked down at the contents of the trough. He saw lard, the ends of carrots, potato skin, and the skin of an onion. His mum had made cottage pie, his favorite.

"So what was in the Prophet?" Ron took the empty cauldron from his sister's hands, which seemed to please Hermione, and turned back to the house with her.

"Someone's been killed," Ginny remarked casually.

"Who?" Hermione gasped and Ron felt her hand immediately wrap around his free one.

"Theodore Nott."

"Oh." Ron felt a tremendous wave of relief. "So?"

"So, he fought on our side," Ginny spoke up in odd defense of the Slytherin.

"Yeah, at the last possible minute," Ron laughed dismissively and gave a shrug. Nott was a snobby, racist, bigoted boy. He hadn't been a part of Draco's gang, but he had been friendly enough with him to put Ron off. He'd heard him refer to Hermione as a "Mudblood" more than once under his breath in Potions class and he frequently made snide remarks about how much better Hogwarts would be without Muggleborns. "You reap what you sow."

"He's dead, Ron." This time the voice that came to Nott's defense was Hermione.

"So are a lot of people," Ron remarked coldly. He could see both Hermione and his sister frown at the dismissive remark.

"Well, I know he didn't want me to know, but I overheard dad saying some people in the Ministry are calling it a reprisal killing."

"Makes sense." Ron shrugged dismissively again. Nott had turned his back on the Death Eaters in their most critical hour. It only made sense that he'd be targeted for his actions.

"I also heard him say security's being tightened up in the Ministry," Ginny continued to inform. "The Malfoys are being guarded - " Ron interrupted Ginny to mumble swears under his breath. "They've stepped up security everywhere - " Ron grumbled again about the improbability of finding Death Eaters at the grocery story. "And your Portkeys are being changed."

"What?" Ron halted in his tracks. "Why?"

"I told you - they're tightening security."

"But Nott was a Death Eater!"

"His dad was a Death Eater," Ginny corrected.

"Still! What's any of this got to do with me and Hermione? They don't think…" his voice trailed away, unable to even give voice to the possibility that this wasn't actually over.

"I heard Dad tell Bill they're having trouble rounding them all up, the Death Eaters," Ginny remarked glumly. "He even told Harry to lay low for a while."

"As if he needed to," Ron scoffed. "I hardly think he'll be lining up to give his autograph anytime soon."

"Actually, he wants to help find them," Ginny spoke sharply. "He's got a meeting with Kingsley on Tuesday about it." For some reason, the words made Ron feel funny. Harry was making plans for the future, scheduling meetings with the Minister while he'd been crying into Hermione's shirt. His sister motioned them inside then."Come on, they'll be so glad you're back."

Sure enough, their return was greeted like they'd just been gone an entire week and not merely an afternoon.

"Oh, he's back!" His mum cried out jovially. "And just in time too!" She beamed as she pulled out the cottage pie. "Look what I made for you, Ronnie!"

"Thanks, mum." Ron had to remember to smile appreciatively as he tried to process the news that Ginny had just presented them. The son of a Death Eater who had switched sides at the last minute was dead. There were Death Eaters still out there. The Ministry was on high alert. He and Hermione were leaving tomorrow. "Tell me about Nott," he blurted out and the house went silent at the words. Ron saw his dad glare at Ginny, his annoyance at her sharing of the news more than obvious.

"Maybe after supper, Ron," his voice rang out first.

"Maybe now," Ron challenged. "Hermione and I are leaving tomorrow, don't you think we ought to know?"

"Your mum's spent all afternoon making supper."

"Yeah, I don't know why, we've got all this food," Ron shot as he looked around the kitchen where every available surface was still covered in food from yesterday's funeral.

"Because she wanted to." His dad's face was unusually stern as he said the words. "Now, apologise to your mother," he scolded sharply at the rude comment and Ron suddenly felt like he was about two feet high. He couldn't remember the last time his father had disciplined him like a child.

"Sorry, mum," he murmured sheepishly in front of Hermione and his entire family. "You didn't have to do that…thanks."

"I wanted to celebrate your last night properly." His mum smiled then in an obvious effort to lift the tension. "Come on then, let's sit down." She motioned to everybody to take a seat at the lengthened table, which had somehow been crammed into the kitchen for the night instead of being out in the garden. Ron didn't bother to ask if it was a security precaution. He was still embarrassed at being scolded in front of Hermione.

The cottage pie was good and his family all did a masterful job at pretending that the news of a murder in the Wizarding community and Death Eaters at large wasn't a big deal. His brothers chattered on with Hermione about where in Australia Brisbane was and how she'd picked it and what the weather was like. His mum dished him out second and third helpings, beaming at him every time she did.

"It's really good, mum," Ron remarked politely, enjoying the food, but thoroughly annoyed at their avoidance of such an important issue.

"Only the best for you!" She beamed. "You'll make sure he eats well on your trip, won't you, Hermione?"

"Of course," Hermione replied from beside Ron. Her stockinged foot slid up his leg playfully beneath the table.

"I won't have any of that wild mushrooms business going on, like Harry told me happened this year," his mum frowned. Ron shook his head at Harry, wishing his friend had known better than to tell his mum something like that, then suddenly wondering what other details he'd told her. "Three square meals for both of you, do you hear?"

"Yes, mum," he replied obediently before making to rub his foot against Hermione's.

"That's my leg, Ron," Bill informed abruptly with a good natured but teasing smile. Ron felt his ears burn as beside him Fleur gave a fluttery laugh and the whole table did their best to suppress grins.

"You two'll be safe, won't you?" his dad suddenly inquired and the vagueness of the question made Ron's heart beat rapidly in his chest. Surely, his dad wouldn't bring up what he'd tried to talk about with him yesterday out in the garage here in front of everyone. "About where you stop to eat and where you stay?"

"Oh – er – yeah. We'll be safe."

Ron saw both Charlie and George stifle an obvious laugh, having clearly thought the same of his dad's question as he had.

"Your Portkeys have changed just a bit, you know," he spoke casually, speaking as if the time they were leaving had simply changed due to the weather and not the possible return of Death Eaters.

"Yeah, about those - " Ron attempted to interject.

"It's a minor change, really. You'll just be leaving from the Ministry now instead of Stoatshead Hill."

"Why did- "

"And you're going to have escorts with you in several of the countries," his dad continued.

"Escorts? You mean like bodyguards?"

"No, no, not like a bodyguard," his mum dismissed with an obviously faked laugh. "Just people to help point you in the right direction."

"They're bodyguards." Ron knew better and he looked to his dad as he spoke the words. "Why won't you tell me what's going on?" He couldn't keep it in any longer. His family was acting downright bizarre about all this and he couldn't figure out why.

"Because your mum made a nice dinner and we're going to enjoy it as a family," his dad's voice was taking on that unusually stern tone again. It sounded almost like somebody else speaking.

"What happened to Nott?" Ron pressed.

"After dinner, Ron," he warned and the edge in his voice told Ron what it meant. The details of Theodore Nott's murder had been grisly, not something suited for dinner table conversation or for his mum's ears. She needed this, his mum, this family dinner to pretend everything was fine. It had to be pretending. Nobody could pretend like this was a normal family dinner, not the day after they'd put Fred in the ground.

"Did you make any pudding too, mum?" Ron looked to his mum hopefully, ignoring the cakes and pies and roly poly all over the Burrow from yesterday.

"Apple dumplings!" She nodded her head vigorously, a wide smile on her face. Ron wondered if cooking was his mum's therapy the same way snogging Hermione was his.

"Wicked." Ron gave a smile back and this time took care to make sure it was Hermione's leg he rubbed his own against. He knew he was right when he felt her hand slide atop his thigh beneath the table and give a squeeze. The action made him think about what had transpired in her bedroom barely an hour ago.

He'd sobbed into her chest. The tear stains were still obvious on her shirt and he wondered if anybody else had noticed them or figured out it had meant his face had been buried against her tiny bosom for what felt like hours. Then they'd gotten horizontal on her bed. Then he'd tried to put his hand down her knickers. Then they'd talked about sex. He and Hermione had talked about sex. With each other.

That's how he would get through the rest of this dinner until he could ask his dad about Nott. He tried to recall what exactly had been said on her part. Something about forethought and responsibility and how it was about a lot more than just being randy, but then there had been that one part, those four amazing words he knew he'd be replaying in his head tonight as he fell asleep. I want you too.

That was what the hand on his leg meant. This wasn't like when she had to hold it down to keep his leg from bouncing or to keep him from leaving the table. There was something daring, almost mischievous, to the way she was touching him. Almost as if she liked doing it just out of view of his entire family. How far they'd come in just a week.

"Hermione, you'll bring your parents back to the Burrow when you return, won't you?" At the mention of her parents, her hand suddenly slowed its gentle kneading of his thigh.

"Um…yes…yes, I will." Ron heard the hesitation in her voice as she spoke the words.

"We want to have them for dinner. It's long overdue, I dare say."

"Yes." Hermione gave a polite small and her hand stopped its movement entirely.

"There's rail stations in Whimple and Feniton if they want to travel…you know, in the Muggle fashion. Though I dare say that might take a few hours from Henley. Arthur could certainly get a car from the Ministry to pick them up," his mum prattled on, oblivious to Hermione's response.

"You know, I've never met your parents, Hermione," Bill spoke suddenly, seemingly thoroughly distressed by the revelation.

"Nor have I," piped in Charlie.

"Well, you'll all get to meet them," Ron spoke suddenly, eager for them all to belt up.

"What do they do?" Charlie inquired brightly.

"They're dentists," Ron replied hurriedly for Hermione. "It means they - "

"They tend to people's teeth," Charlie, the recipient of an O in Muggle Studies, finished for him. "They must be very smart," he complimented then, looking brightly to Hermione. "That takes quite a lot of schooling."

"Of course they're brilliant, have you met Hermione?" Ron dismissed, knowing his brother was just trying to be kind and make conversation, but thoroughly annoyed by the fact that nobody else at the table, not even Harry and Ginny, could see that talking about Hermione's parents made her uncomfortable.

Ron looked to his mum imploringly then, hoping she at least might get it. Beneath the table, he slid his hand onto Hermione's upper thigh, hoping the intimate action might bring her back. He slid his long fingers around to the inside of her thigh, dangerously close to the place his hand had only hovered over briefly this afternoon, and gave a squeeze. She glanced over to him out the corner of her eye and smiled. Ron couldn't tell whether it was because of where his hand was or because of how he'd run interference for her, but his mum saw it and finally something seemed to click.

"So who wants apple dumplings?"

The night marked the first time Ron had stayed with his family after supper and not retreated upstairs with Hermione. Part of that was due to the fact that, after what happened in her bedroom, he wasn't sure when it would be appropriate to kiss her again. But part of it was due to the fact that dinner had actually been pleasant. If he forgot about Theodore Nott for a moment and what exactly his dad wasn't telling him, he realised part of him would miss his family. When he returned, whether it was five days or fifteen, Bill and Fleur would be gone and so would Charlie most likely. Percy might be out of the house again and possibly even George. This would be the last time probably until Christmas holiday that his whole family would be together. As together - he glanced at Fred's Cleansweep still propped up against the fireplace 0 as they ever would be again.

So he stayed downstairs and enjoyed the apple dumpling and he laughed as his dad shared stories of getting lost in Paris and Percy informed him how not to ask for the loo in Russia. Charlie told them about a rare dragon breed in the Western Ghats of India and George teased Ron about losing Hermione to Viktor Krum in Bulgaria, which made him quite cross until Hermione leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Everybody gave a laugh then and he could hear his mum sigh over the sweet gesture and Fleur prattling to Bill in French about he and Hermione being "très mignon." Ron felt the tips of his ears redden, but he was pleased to see Hermione didn't even blush at all. In fact, all the fussing did was make Hermione lean over and do it again, this time right on the lips. It was a quick peck and that was all, but the action wasn't lost on Ron.

"Ugh, save it for Australia!" Ginny tossed a pillow at them both.

"Honestly, I still can't figure out how the brightest witch to pass through Hogwarts in quite some time chose my little brother," Percy articulated with a shake of the head.

"Don't sound so jealous, Perce," Ron grinned, feeling immensely cheered by Hermione's brazen display. He'd almost forgotten about Theodore Nott or how he'd come apart up in Hermione's bedroom. This is how it would be now, he realised with a smile. He and Hermione and his family, they could be together like this and tease and laugh and kiss and it would be okay. Maybe eventually he wouldn't even wait for the joke that never came after all four of his brothers had had a go at him.

"The way I heard it there were so many birds after Ron last year he had to chase them off with a Beater's bat!" Charlie teased.

"Yes, quite literally!" Harry roared with laughter, recalling the canaries Hermione had sent at him. Ron shook his head at Harry as he reached for his butterbeer, his own lips threatening to curve into a smile at the memory. Ginny chuckled too and Hermione just looked down at the floor, mumbling under her breath with a smile about how he deserved those birds.

"It sure took you two long enough to wise up," Bill shook his head. "Fleur told me she reckoned you fancied her after the Yule Ball at Hogwarts."

"Oh, the Yule Ball," Harry laughed again.

"Well, however it happened, we're glad it did. To Ron and Hermione." His father raised his bottle of butterbeer up high then, and Ron felt embarrassed for the first time all night as he realised this was all for him. The smiles, the jokes, the laughter. It was all for him. He wondered, sadly, what they'd all be gathered in the room talking and laughing about tomorrow.

"Ron and Hermione!" A chorus of voices sounded as bottles clinked around the room. Ron leaned into her shoulder and she leaned back up against his. He was tempted to kiss her, but instead they just grinned at each other, their eyes saying it all. At this time tomorrow they'd be in Australia. At this time tomorrow they'd be alone.

Perhaps it was the fact that numerous people in his family had already married the two of them off after only a week together, but there was something strangely ceremonial about Ron's departure from the Burrow with Hermione that felt odd to him. The way they had toasted the two of them last night reminded Ron of the way they'd toasted Bill and Fleur. Now the whole family was crowded around the sitting room, staring at them both and just waiting for 9 o'clock to roll around like it was a major event.

There was a nervous energy as his dad chattered on, making unnecessary conversation about everything from the Portkeys to the weather with whoever was closest to him. He'd assured Ron last night that he and Hermione would be fine. Theodore Nott's death was simply a reprisal killing between Death Eaters and it would not extend or affect the rest of the Wizarding world, but Ron wondered if he was withholding information because his mum was beside him as he spoke the words. The celebratory air had eventually died down last night. Eventually, each member of his family had left the sitting room until it was just Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and him.

Ron had wanted to talk about Theodore Nott then too, to ask more questions than the handful his dad had let him inquire about while mum was serving the apple dumplings. His sister seemed to know something he didn't about the circumstances surrounding Nott's change in loyalty the night of the Battle. She seemed deeply saddened by the news of his murder, even Hermione did. He couldn't figure out why they all seemed so shaken up. His sister looked much sadder than she should over a boy he knew had laughed about Hermione's blood status on more than one occasion.

The murder annoyed him more than anything else. Nott had been an arse, a stuck-up bigoted boy with a Death Eater for a father. Now he was dead, for apparently coming to the realisation at the very last minute that blood status really meant nothing and Ron was supposed to feel bad for him. He supposed he did; nobody deserved to die, especially not in the manner his dad had described, but all Ron knew was that his death meant more complications for their trip. Now they had to go to the Ministry. Now they had an extra Portkey to catch in Russia. Now they had a bloody bodyguard to escort them through seven countries. He didn't want a bodyguard tagging along. He certainly didn't need anybody else to help keep Hermione safe.

"Now, you'll get to the Ministry first and message us as soon as you get to Australia, right?" His mum reached out and straightened Ron's collar. He half expected her to lick her fingers and smooth down a cowlick.

"As soon as we can."

"And you'll let us know when you find the Grangers?"

"Er, yeah," Ron replied though he was hardly sure as to how exactly he was supposed to drop them a line from Australia.

"You make sure they know I want to have them over for dinner first thing after they get settled, Hermione." She looked to Hermione warmly.

"Of course," Hermione assured, but Ron could detect a flicker of nervousness behind her eyes at the request just like he'd seen last night.

"And you have the itinerary?" his father piped in.

"Yes." Hermione patted the beaded bag.

"And you know where you're going in all the cities?" his mum asked for the fifteenth time.

"Yes."

"And what you're looking for? You've got the time of the Portkeys, yes?"

"Mum!" Ron sighed wearily.

"Remember to be careful about the time change, that will be tricky."

"Blimey, mum, you'd think they'd never – I don't know – traveled on their own before!" George piped in then with a laugh.

"Not to the other side of the world they haven't!" His mum put her hands on her hips. "And through seven countries, oh!" She clucked then and fussed with Ron's jacket collar again.

"Oi, mum!" Ron groaned. He felt like she was sending him off for his first year at Hogwarts. Hermione did a poor job disguising her smile at his protesting. "I'm eighteen."

"You're still my son," she fussed. "Now come into the kitchen a moment."

"We've got to leave by nine!" he groaned and rolled his eyes. "And we've got enough food, I promise." Ron glanced back to Hermione's beaded bag, which was, thanks to his mum, now loaded with half a dozen ham sandwiches, crisps, biscuits, and most of the contents of the pantry.

"It's not food! Just come here." His mother looked to him with exasperation and, afraid that she was about to drag him into the kitchen by his ear, he obliged.

"We really do have a schedule, mum." Ron glanced back at Hermione, who now appeared to be talking to three of his brothers at once.

"Come now, it won't take but a moment." She looked over her shoulder to the group talking to Hermione as well then pulled a painting off the wall beside the enchanted ice box. Then she tapped two stones in the wall and Ron's eyes widened as a small hole the size of a breadbox began to form. He looked as the hole grew deeper and his eyes widened as he saw a canister that looked to be made of the same oddly coloured metals he saw inside Gringotts. It was even affixed with several strange looking locks, which he watched his mum open with a complicated wave of her wand.

"What's this?" Ron frowned, having never seen the hidden vault before.

"It's just…" His mum reached her hand into the canister and pulled out a handful of galleons, which she then placed into his palm. "It's not much, but take it."

"Hermione's got money, mum," Ron protested, uncomfortable that his mum was handing him what appeared to be the family's emergency savings.

"Your father and I want you to have this."

"I don't - "

"Please, just take it, Ron." Ron was surprised to hear his mum's voice waiver suddenly. He relented as he saw a familiar quiver of her chin. "Don't camp out if you don't need to," she ordered then and when she straightened his collar yet again, he didn't try to brush her off. "Be safe. Find a nice inn to stay in."

"Mum - " He felt his face flush at the recognition from his mother that he and Hermione would be staying together in the same hotel room.

"And go out for a nice meal somewhere. I won't have you going hungry."

"Mum, it's not like before. We'll be back in a few days. We'll probably still have your ham sandwiches," he insisted, though he had the same nagging doubt that he had had in his head when he said the words last night in Hermione's room. He had no idea how long it would take.

"Take care of her." His mum reached out then and cupped his face in her hands, tilting his chin down toward her. He could see her eyes were wet with tears. "She's taken care of you this week and…and now it's your turn." Ron looked down at the floor uncomfortably, knowing his mum was right. Hermione had looked after him from the moment he'd seen his brother's body lying there on the stone floor. She'd held his hand and watched him cry and stood there while he raged. "Be there for her," she repeated.

"Always," Ron replied instinctively and he puffed his chest out a bit as he did. The response reduced his mother to tears for some reason and she immediately threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely like she had when he'd come in after Fred's funeral. "We'll be all right, mum," he assured and patted her on the back clumsily. "We'll be back soon." As he spoke the words he suddenly realised that 'we' was not entirely accurate. When Hermione returned home with her parents she would stay with them in Henley. He would be coming home alone. "There better still be apple dumplings left when I do!" he shouted across the room to his brothers, who were still talking with Hermione in the sitting room.

The remark caused his mum to let loose an awkward noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle, a bit like the noises she'd made during the fireworks the other day as they made their way back to the rest of the family.

"Well, I reckon you better get a move on." His dad tried to speak cheerfully. He didn't look as pale as his mum, but Ron would hardly say he looked excited about their departure. Ron wondered if he was thinking about Theodore Nott and the horrible manner of his death.

"It's safe to travel, right, dad?" Ron couldn't help but ask, still feeling like there was something his dad wasn't saying.

"Safe to travel?" his dad gave a poorly disguised laugh. "Yes, of course, you'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes. You'll be safe in the Ministry and the rest is the easy part, really," he dismissed with a gulp. "Besides, what happened to Nott was – it was an isolated incident." His stammering hardly helped assure Ron. "You two – you'll be just fine." His dad reached out and gave Ron's arm a squeeze then. "You both can take care of yourselves. We know that," he stated firmly this time without any hesitation or stammering. "You'll be just fine."

"Hermione, make sure old Ron doesn't get boxed by a kangaroo, eh?" George teased.

"Yeah, or get too pissed on that Aussie firewhiskey. I hear it's ten times stronger," Charlie laughed.

"Take care of each other," Harry spoke solemnly.

"Take pictures!" Ginny piped in.

"We're not exactly going to be sightseeing." Ron sighed as he gave his dad a quick, but most sincere hug. His mum flung her hands around his neck then and Ron squeezed her back tightly before breaking apart and lacing his hand in Hermione's.

"Please let us know as soon as you find them!" his mum requested for the third time. "Be careful." Ron and Hermione nodded their heads and both sucked in a deep breath of air.

Then they were gone.

Ron wasn't sure which end of the trip he was dreading more. He hated the thought of traveling around Muggle Australia with his wand hidden, surrounded by customs he didn't understand, but the thought of stepping into the Ministry of Magic after the past three days of news articles about him, Hermione, and the mission they'd been assigned unnerved him even more. He was so reluctant to have to deal with admirers that he almost asked Harry for his Invisibility Cloak last night. He noted that Hermione seemed equally apprehensive about being recognised as they entered the Ministry, which was only slightly comforting. Hermione was always the confident one, yet she walked into the Atrium with her head lowered, like him, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

He was grateful for the pass Kinglsey had owled them that morning so they wouldn't need to wear nametags, but he suddenly wished he'd at least worn a hat. He clung to Hermione's hand as they made their way through the long and splendid hall, trying hard to avoid anyone that might recognise them. The Ministry seemed busier than usual, which was a slight blessing as most people seemed to be in quite a hurry and paid the two teenagers little mind.

Ron tilted his head back to look at the peacock blue ceiling and the gleaming gold symbols, remembering how he'd hardly even paid the ceiling any mind when he'd been here last fall. He used to love looking up at that ceiling when he was a little boy and his dad would bring him to work. He felt more nervous than when he had walked this very path with Harry and Hermione last fall.

"What level is it we're meant to go?" He gripped his wand in the hand that wasn't holding onto Hermione's. Looking to the security checks by the golden gates at the end of the hall, he hoped Kingsley's visitor pass would mean they wouldn't have to hand over their wands.

"Six."

"Right." His hand tightened around Hermione's as they passed the gilded fireplaces and shiny dark wood that paneled the walls. Things were different, lighter than the last time they'd been here. There were security precautions, just as his dad said there would be in light of Nott's murder, but there wasn't fear etched into the faces of the witches and wizards they passed. They weren't searched. The guard even smiled at Hermione and him as he presented their visitor pass with Kingsley's signature on it. He recalled what his dad had said about everyone working together here and helping each other out. It really was a completely different Ministry.

He was pleased to see as they passed through the gates that the awful statue had been removed from the Atrium. All that was left now was a plain empty fountain. He thought it was rather fitting in light of all that had been lost. They lingered by the empty space a moment as Hermione rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb, apparently just as pleased by its removal. He had never really thought about the full impact of what they were doing this year. They were destroying Horcruxes, helping Harry like always, and just trying to stay alive. But as he looked in at the Atrium he couldn't help but think about the horrible statue that had been there so many months ago. Now there was nothing but empty space, nothing left to do but rebuild.

"Hey, look, it's Reg!" Ron felt a strange soaring feeling as he caught sight of a familiar looking wizard in navy blue robes on the other side of the fountain. There was Reginald Cattermole stood in a queue by the lifts, talking jovially with his coworkers in the maintenance department. "He made it." Ron's face stretched into a smile as he watched Reg file into a lift with his colleagues. Hermione leaned into his shoulder then, smiling tenderly at how pleased he was by Reg's survival. The small ferrety wizard's eyes caught sight of Ron just as the gold gates began to close. Ron saw his mouth open up as recognition dawned on his face, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open. For a moment Ron was afraid he was going to shout out his name across the hall, but Reginald Cattermole's mouth just hung open as he looked to Ron with wonder, and though it embarrassed Ron immensely, an evident admiration.

"It feels like so long ago, doesn't it?" Hermione looked to Reg as well as they watched the lift depart.

"Decades," Ron agreed. He stood and gazed out at the Atrium, recalling how they'd fled for their lives here with a pack of frightened Muggleborns. He remembered how long they had spent planning the break-in into the Ministry. Ron wanted to laugh at how impossible a task it had seemed. They had no way of knowing what was to come in the coming months. The Ministry job had been the easy part.

He looked out at all the witches and wizards walking by, wondering how many had returned back like Reg Cattermole. He wondered how many had lost loved ones. He wondered how many had had to flee. "Mr. Weasley!" A tall wizard with spectacles suddenly shouted out. Ron whirled around and looked over his shoulder hopefully, expecting to see his father.

"Ms. Granger!" Another voice rang out loudly and it was only then that Ron realized there was a whole group of them and they were all looking at him and Hermione.

"Look, it's Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger!" Ron detected a Quick Quotes Quill in one of their hands and quickly began to stumble backwards with Hermione as a throng of people suddenly started toward them.

"A word, please, Ms. Granger!" The crowd seemed to grow bigger with each step.

Abandoning all attempts at being subtle, Ron tightened his hand in Hermione's and bullied past people for an empty lift. He shoved two grey-haired wizards aside, pushed Hermione into the lift and closed the gold gates with a quick flourish of his wand before anyone could force their way in behind him. Unfortunately, that didn't stop the inquisitive mob from slamming against the gates and hurling requests and questions their way.

"Would you sign my Daily Prophet?"

"Can you tell us what mission you were left with?"

"Is it true you two were married over the last year?"

"What were you searching for with Harry Potter?"

Ron positioned Hermione behind him, as if to shield her from the onslaught of questions with his own body. Both didn't dare utter a syllable, but their silence didn't seem to diffuse the questions at all. He willed the lift to hurry up and move.

"Can we get a statement about your brother, Mr. Weasley?"

"Ms. Granger, it's rumored your parents were killed while in hiding at the start of the year, can you confirm?"

Ron recognized Rita Skeeter and her emerald glasses through the gate. His eyes flashed furiously at the bold question that he knew had rattled Hermione.

"Piss off!" he snarled and a string of colorful expletives followed as the lift soared away.

He heard Hermione let out a deep breath beside him and he turned around to face her finally. She didn't even comment on his rough choice of words.

"It's just Skeeter. You know there's no truth to anything she says." He moved both hands up to her shoulders.

"How did she know they were in hiding?" Hermione fretted.

"Because you've done such a bloody good job hiding them," Ron assured. "The old hag probably went looking for them herself and got so annoyed that she couldn't find them that she made up a sodding story." Hermione let out a weak laugh at his logic. "Come on, this is the same woman who said you pulled Harry," he maintained, hoping to make her laugh.

"They've probably alerted everyone we're here," Hermione lamented as the lift climbed to the second level. Without even thinking, Ron drew his wand and in rapid succession cast the same five charms he'd been using on his bedroom door for the past week on the golden gates. "That's probably against the rules," Hermione remarked, though she looked impressed, especially at his ability to cast many of them nonverbally.

"Let them call the Minister," he dismissed, patting the visitor pass from Kingsley in his pocket. More than one wizard attempted to open the gates as the lift arrived at the next level. Several shouted to let them inside and one made a suggestive comment about what exactly was happening in the elevator that prevented them from entering, which made both he and Hermione blush.

"I wish we'd been able to catch the Portkey at Stoatshead Hill like we were supposed to," Ron grumbled as they left finally arrived level six and the Department of Magical Transportation.

"Security precautions are on high alert after what happened to Nott," Hermione informed, though he could see she was wishing the same thing. "They're just trying to keep us safe."

"Coming in here's probably more dangerous than going to Stoatshead Hill!" he scoffed as the gates opened and they stepped out of the lift. "I reckon those bloody journalists would run a person down for a story."

"It's Archibald Darling we want to see." Hermione looked to the great listing of offices on the wall in front of them. In between the Floo Network Authority and the Broom Regulatory Control was a list of all the Portkey offices. "All the Portkeys to Europe are in Darling's office."

"So these are permanent Portkeys, then? The ones that operate on a schedule?"

"Yes. Didn't you listen to your brother and dad yesterday after supper when they were explaining it?" She sighed in exasperation. Ron couldn't tell if it was exasperation with him or if it was because she was eyeing the hallway carefully for reporters. "They're usually reserved for diplomats and members of the Ministry."

"So why are you and me using them, then?"

"Because they're guarded," she explained, "and Kingsley wants to protect us."

Ron caught sight of that morning's Daily Prophet resting on a vacant bench. "Murder in Moresham" read the headline. He seized it and continued walking with Hermione. "Death Eaters Go into Hiding, Vow Return" the article beneath it read accompanied by "Who the Next Dark Lord Will Be and Why".

"I'm glad they're going for such a cheerful approach." Ron leafed through the paper, unbeknownst to the fact that he, Harry, and Hermione's pictures were plastered on the back page. He looked to the "Murder in Moresham" article and read aloud. "Though most Ministry officials believe Nott's death to be an isolated incident, some in the Auror office think the attack may be a reprisal killing intended to send a message. Those who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts on the night of May 1-2 are advised to maintain standard security precautions and avoid public areas until more details emerge." He scanned the rest of the article and then looked at the publication date. It had been written twenty minutes ago. "Do you think dad knew this?" he frowned at Hermione. "Why would he send us off if - "

"Is that Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?" A curious voice suddenly sounded.

"Bloody hell, not again," Ron grumbled as he closed the paper hurriedly and stuffed it under his arm. Squeezing Hermione's hand, he hurried down the curved hallway toward Archibald Darling's room, which was of course at the very end of the very long hallway. They practically fell through the circular door and, much as he had upon arriving in the lift, Ron quickly sealed the door with a myriad of charms. He hardly took note of the outline of Ministry guards inside the chamber, who had drawn their wands in surprise at their sudden arrival.

"Ah, but I wouldn't do that!" A bright voice sounded from the back of the room. "When you lock others out, you're also locking yourself in. And you never know what you might lock yourself in with!"

"Mr. Darling." Hermione attempted to ignore the creepy warning that came from such a cheerful voice. "I'm Hermione Granger, this is Ron Weasley,"

"But of course." The curly haired man smiled. "We have been waiting for you."

"We'd have been here earlier if your bleeding reporters hadn't gone after us," Ron grumbled.

"Minister Shacklebolt warned them not to approach you." Archibald Darling spoke in a very crisp and articulate voice. "He will be most displeased."

"It was that Skeeter woman who was leading the charge," Ron couldn't contain himself from name dropping, highly entertained at the thought of her getting reprimanded by Kingsley. Perhaps there would even be a brief stay in Azkaban for her discretions.

"So you are traveling to France!" he smiled at them both. "A holiday of sorts? To celebrate the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Not exactly." Ron frowned and looked to the man strangely. He wondered if many people were taking a holiday to mark the occasion.

"France isn't our final destination," Hermione piped in before Ron could say something rude. "We're going to Australia to fetch my parents. They've been in hiding, you see."

"Ah, wonderful. Well, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, identification, if you will." Mr. Darling held out his hand.

Ron grabbed Hermione's wrist just as she reached out to surrender her wand.

"We're not turning our wands over." He almost laughed at the notion.

"Mr. Weasley, it'll just be a moment," Mr. Darling replied and bowed his head submissively.

"No," Ron retorted and he saw Hermione's jaw drop at the rude reply.

"I assure you, it's simply for your own safety."

"Have you had many people pretending to be us?"

"Ron," Hermione glared at him. "Just give him your wand."

"No! Who is this bloke?"

"He's worked at the Ministry for twelve years," Hermione whispered to him, though Ron was quite sure Mr. Darling could probably hear. "He's Muggleborn, he's from Watford and has been in hiding with his family in Germany for the past year. I hardly think he's about to ambush us."

"How do you know all that?"

"I heard your dad talking about him last night after dinner while you and Harry were looking through the new broom catalog." Hermione blew out another frustrated sigh.

"Well, how do we know it's him? What about the article I just read? How do we know he hasn't been Polyjuiced or put under the Imperius curse? Maybe it's the same guys who killed Nott," Ron countered.

"You're starting to sound like Mad-Eye," she chided.

"Nothing wrong with constant vigilance," Ron maintained, "I just don't see why we need identification to use an effing Portkey."

"Standard procedure within the Ministry since 1995, Mr. Weasley."

"Stop calling me Mr. Weasley," Ron gritted, "I feel like you're talking to my dad."

"So sorry, Mr. Weasley,." Mr. Darling gave another low bow. Ron frowned. He didn't want anyone to bow at him. He just didn't want to turn his wand over to someone he'd known for all of two minutes. Especially not after the article he'd just read in the Prophet.

"Why cant you just call Kingsley and take our word for it? Here!" he patted the breast pocket of his shirt. "We've got a signed pass from the Minister."

"The Minister especially r-requested we check your w-wands. It will only take a moment, I assure you." Mr. Darling stretched a hand out for Hermione's wand.

"Like hell." The hand that wasn't wrapped around his willow wand clinched instinctively into a fist. The guards in the room slowly began approaching the two

"Ron, calm down," Hermione pleaded. Her discomfort at his belligerence was evident.

"Why does he have guards?p" Ron looked around warily.

"Because I told you - these Portkeys are usually used for dignitaries and diplomats! They're here for our protection."

"Why are they circling us?"

"Because you're making a scene!" she cried.

"I assure you this is merely a precaution for your own safety."

"Oh, we can take care of ourselves." Ron's fists remained clinched as he let out a haughty laugh. "Trust me."

"I have no doubt," Mr. Darling spoke meekly, clearly unsure of how to proceed. He seemed to be eyeing the scars down Ron's forearms warily. Ron wondered if he'd read the Daily Prophet articles about him. He seemed to be treating him with a kind of deference that Ron was unused to. "It's simply p-protocol," he stammered.

"Show him your Muggle license, Hermione. The one for the automobiles you got last year. That ought to do it, right?"

"I'm afraid those can be forged."

"Well, so can wands and this - " Ron thrust the pass from Kingsley at Darling, "-and that Muggle license is all you're going to get from either of us." He crossed his arms defiantly. The guards were now so close to them Ron could read their nametags. His stomach twisted uncomfortably into a knot as he saw one of them was called Fred.

He knew Hermione was embarrassed and wanted him to stand down, but he didn't care. He couldn't explain the visceral reaction he had at the thought of surrendering his wand. Perhaps it was being back in the Ministry and the memories of all that they'd been through here. Perhaps it was the article about Theodore Nott and the grisly manner of his death. Perhaps it was the thought of all that was in front of them and what they had to accomplish, but he would not voluntarily give his wand to anybody. Not when he'd just promised his mother he'd take care of Hermione.

"That…that will be fine," Mr. Darling obliged, appearing more than the slightest bit intimidated by Ron's bravado. The guards all looked stunned that he had acquiesced, but Mr. Darling just gave them all assuring nods to stand down.

Hermione meanwhile glared at Ron disapprovingly as she rummaged through her bag for the tiny piece of Muggle plastic and muttered about why he didn't simply hand him his wand. Ron wished she could understand she was the reason he was so adamant about keeping it. A wizard without his wand was defenseless and he would never be caught defenseless around her again.

"Here you are," she said politely, handing over her identification. "I'm very sorry about this."

"It's all right," Mr. Darling stammered, glancing up to Ron nervously from behind his desk. "You've been through quite a bit, I understand."

"We've had our wands stolen, you see," Hermione attempted to explain. Ron wanted to tell her it wasn't merely about how their wands had been taken; it was about how many times they'd been put in danger. It was the possibility that maybe everything wasn't as cheery as Mr. Darling's bright voice would make it seem. Who could really be sure the war was over? It sure hadn't been for Theodore Nott.

"I'm very sorry to hear that. They are fine wands." He nodded in the direction of both their wands as he looked over Hermione's identification and verified it with the parchment in front of him. "Yes, th-this will suffice."

"Thank you." Hermione took back her license. She trained her eyes on Ron, giving him the look she always did when she wanted him to say something.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"You're most welcome, Mr. Weasley. I'm so sorry to have upset you. I assure you we are just looking out for you both."

"We know. Thank you again for your understanding." Hermione looked most apologetic.

"The P-Portkey to Paris is in… chamber two. It leaves in five minutes." Mr. Darling motioned to one of the circular doors against the wall. "Good luck on the rest of your journey."


	21. Chapter 21

ercy's directions said they would arrive in the twelfth arrondisement in the car park of an abandoned leisureplex. From there they were to travel two blocks down to a closed lavoratory in the Bercy metro station. Ron had no idea what a leisureplex was or an arrondisement, but he was quite sure they weren't in the right place. Their backs were to a stone building with a red door and tall windows full of antique lamps at the end of a narrow cobblestone alley. The other buildings that lined the alley all had colorful painted shutters and flowers in the windows, which curved around in a bend and he could see tall buildings and a church steeple ahead. It was picturesque, but it looked nothing like a vacant car park.

"This isn't where we're supposed to be." He spun around in a circle, clutching Hermione's hand tightly. Pressing his free hand against the door, he turned the handle. The door was locked. The only way to go was down the alley and around the bend. "Hermione, this looks like a trap."

"It's just a mistake." Ron could hear the uncertainty in her voice. "It's simply a mistake," she repeated.

"Someone's coming." He heard the distinct sound of footsteps down the alley accompanied by several voices. The footsteps grew louder and the voices sounded like they were coming from right around the bend. Ron instinctively drew his wand, but before he could even aim it, Hermione had wrapped both arms around his body in a tight embrace. He was confused for a moment until he felt the familiar uncomfortable squeezing sensation that told him Hermione was Apparating them away. The next thing he knew they stood clutching each other in an empty square. Rain was pouring down and it quickly plastered his over-long hair to his face as he looked wildly around the square.

He could see storefronts with French signs and cafes that had shuttered their doors and closed in their patios to protect them from the rain. Timber-lined homes surrounded the misshapen square and there was a fountain in the middle of it. There was a sculpture of a nude man treading on grapes and water poured from the mouths of lions, which felt redundant considering the driving rain. He was soaked through every layer of clothes, even down to his socks and pants, almost immediately.

"Where are we?" he asked frantically, rainwater dripping down his face and into his mouth. The vacant square gave him an eerie feeling, especially the empty carousel beside the fountain.

"We're in Dijon," Hermione informed, pushing the wet hair out of her face. "It's the only place in France I could picture in my mind and think to go."

"Well…nicely done." Ron looked again around the vacant square. Each raindrop felt like tiny pebbles hitting him in the face. Large puddles had formed in the center of the square, reflecting the colorful rooftops of the building behind them, but there wasn't a soul to be seen.

"Did you see who was coming?" she asked while the rain poured down in sheets around them. Ron just shook his head, his eyes continuing to scan the square for any unwelcome visitors. "Me neither," she admitted.

"That cowardly little sod set us up!" he growled.

"Who? Darling?" Hermione chewed on her lip uncertainly. "There are a lot of people who can mess with Portkeys." She looked out onto the rainy Dijon square, hardly seeming to mind the pelting rain.

"Well, let's go back to London so I can ask him myself," Ron growled menacingly and pushed the wet hair out from his face.

"W- we can't, I…" Hermione replied weakly, suddenly seeming to realize a mistake. "I Apparated us away."

"Well, Apparate us back then!"

"I don't know where we were!" she wailed over the rain.

"But you Apparated us lots of places this year!" Ron replied, his voice growing louder in frustration.

"I knew where we were going then. I - I don't know where we just were. At all! Destination, determination, and deliberation, remember?" Ron saw her lip start to quiver and he thought for a moment she was about to start crying until he realized her whole body was only shaking from the cold stinging rain pelting her face.

"You did the right thing," he assured, quickly throwing an arm around her soaked shoulder like it could somehow keep away the rain that was coming down in sheets. "Come on. Let's go inside, get somewhere safe and dry." Hermione nodded her head and leaned into him as he marched them out of the square without having any idea where he was going.

"Go right." She steered him down a narrow cobblestone alley like the one they'd just Apparated from. She clung to him, twisting the fabric of his wet jersey between her fingers, making it difficult to walk quickly as they stumbled along in the rain. He couldn't tell if she was scared or perhaps just cold from the rain. Every time he looked at her he couldn't make out whether they were tears or rivulets of rain running down her face. He tried to sort out the series of events that had just happened while she continued to direct him down the pavement to the main boulevard.

They'd gone to the Ministry to take a Portkey to Paris. The Portkey had not taken them to Paris. They didn't know where the Portkey had taken them. They were at a dead-end. There were voices. Then Hermione had taken them away with no way to return. Now they were here, in Dijon, and it was raining and she was shivering and he wasn't entirely sure why.

"What about there?" Ron shouted over the pounding rain and motioned to a store with a blue awning with words he couldn't understand aside from the word "snack." "There's a place to sit, yeah?" He looked through the glass door for a table and chairs.

"Let's just go a bit further!" She shouted over the rain as well and pushed him further up the road. At this point, they were so wet it hardly mattered anymore. They passed a bank and a store with a great green neon cross, a bookstore whose doors were all shuttered up and a shop that looked to sell nothing but mustard. He hadn't put his wand away and he still had it clinched in his fingers, but for the first time he no longer cared what any passing Muggles thought of him. He paid no mind to the shop windows. He was focused only on the people on the street, those in front of them, those behind him and those on the other side of the boulevard. Somebody was after them. He was convinced of it. Portkeys didn't just happen to mess up and stick you in a dead-end. That wasn't normal. And that Darling guy had been shifty and strange.

"Just there." Hermione squeezed his arm and nodded toward a brasserie on the corner of yet another large empty square. This square had an impressive stone arch spanning it, which Ron – though hardly a world traveler - was quite confident belonged in Paris. His mouth gaped open, temporarily distracted by the marvelous sight, and he held out his wand hand to point at the magnificent structure. "It's not the same one," Hermione dismissed knowingly and she pushed him into the restaurant.

The chilly restaurant offered little relief from the pelting rain outside and Hermione shivered as she stepped inside and looked around the room uncertainly. There was a large glass-globed chandelier that hung down from the ceiling in the center of the room and brass railings that divided the space into sections.

Ron surveyed the clientele for anything suspicious. There was a decent sized crowd sitting down for an early lunch, including several school girls with plaited hair who looked to Ron and his wet ginger hair and giggled. There was also a table full of businessmen dressed in suits who looked unimpressed by Ron and Hermione's scraggly appearance and the large wet puddle forming on the floor beneath them. A motorcycle rider sat nearest to them, his helmet still on the table as he eyed Hermione and the wet clothes that were snug to her body. Ron looked warily to the mustached man and wrapped an arm around her waist possessively.

There had been an almost comfortable familiarity to the entire sequence of events. From the way Hermione had Apparated them both here without even a word to the manner they'd matter-of-factly gotten off the street and taken refuge in a Muggle restaurant, it had all been oddly familiar. Though annoyed by the situation, he also felt a strange sense of calm. For the first time all week, he felt like he had a purpose. This was the kind of thing they'd done before.

"You reckon this is safe?" Ron looked to the section where large glass windows looked onto the square. If somebody was after them they would be easily found if they sat near the window.

"I think so," Hermione sighed.

"I think we're being followed," Ron mumbled from behind pursed lips as a man he'd seen a few blocks back out on the street suddenly entered the brasserie.

"You don't know that," she dismissed immediately and flagged down one of the white-aproned waiters. She mumbled something to him Ron couldn't understand and his mouth dropped open in surprise, suddenly forgetting about the man who had just entered.

"You speak French?" He gaped at her as she and the waiter continued to converse hurriedly with one another. For some reason, the revelation that she spoke another language seemed like one he thought he ought to already know.

"A bit," she dismissed, pushing the wet hair out of her face and following the waiter, who led them through to a back corner table.

He wasn't sure whether Hermione had asked the waiter to seat them where he did, but he approved of the spot. They could both sit with their backs to the wall and watch the movements of nearly everyone in the room. The only thing he didn't like was that aside from the window there was only one discernible exit. Hermione looked to be surveying the room the same way he was while she spoke to the waiter in French, and they were handed two menus Ron opened up a menu in an attempt to be more discrete as he carefully eyed each diner in their section of the restaurant.

"That bloke in the blue polo-neck's been walking behind us since the mustard shop," Ron whispered and motioned to a table across from them where the skinny man had just been seated. "That's like four blocks, Hermione, and he came into the restaurant and he's in our section."

"It is possible he was walking behind us because he was going to the restaurant," Hermione reasoned. Nevertheless, Ron saw her glance over her shoulder. The skinny man greeted a woman with long jet black hair who joined him at the table with a kiss and a wide smile. "He looks as if he's having lunch with his wife. I'd hardly say he's a threat."

"She could be another Death Eater."

"They've got wedding rings on," Hermione noted.

"Could be married Death Eaters," he insisted. "Come on, he keeps looking at us."

"Because you're looking at him!" she whispered back.

"He hasn't taken his jacket off or moved his left arm hardly at all since he sat down. He could have a wand," he finally stated firmly. Hermione peered over her shoulder to look at the man again. This time she had no retort. His astute observations and logical deductions had silenced her. She actually looked rather impressed. "Here, come sit next to me so your back's not to him," Ron insisted protectively.

"He's having dinner with his wife," Hermione whispered positively, but she scooted her chair around so she was sitting closer to Ron anyway.

"Somebody's after us," he finally spoke plainly. "Somebody fixed that Portkey and now he or she is after us."

"We don't know that."

"That was a set up in that alley. You know it was."

"Do you think we ought to go onto the next one?" She chose not to answer him.

"Onto the next what?" Ron frowned.

"Portkey."

"No!" he laughed at the mere idea of continuing on.

"Because I can get us to Bercy from here." Again Hermione seemed to ignore him.

"I think we need to go back to London and let Kingsley know what happened."

"No, I don't want to go back," Hermione muttered and she blew out a loud breath after she spoke. Ron kept his eye on the man in the blue polo-neck and the black haired woman who had joined him. "We just need to get to the next Portkey."

"I don't think we should." Ron wasn't sure why she was so adamant on continuing on. "If someone's after us - "

"We don't know someone's after us - "

" – we don't know that they're not."

"If we just get to the next Portkey - "

"The next Portkey could be a trap too."

"If we keep moving - "

"I think we need to go back to London," he insisted again.

"No, we need to keep moving forward," she spoke emphatically. "I don't want to go back," she repeated firmly and her eyes locked on his. There was a steely resolve to them, that same steely resolve that he loved about her as much as it drove him mad. She wasn't making any kind of sense. The Portkeys were all off now. The one in Paris was scheduled to leave in ten minutes. From there, the rest of the entire Portkey chain was thrown off. Moving forward, whatever that meant, didn't make sense. They were stuck. The only logical solution was to return to London, inform the Ministry what had happened, throw Archibald Darling in Azkaban, and start over again.

Ron looked over the table to Hermione. Her lip was trembling again and she was staring down at the table top. Once more he couldn't tell whether the trembling of her lip was due to the chill or her own emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. He reached across the table and moved his hand on top of hers. Her skin was still as cold and clammy as it had been outside.

"You should eat something and warm up." He looked down to the menu that he didn't understand. "Aha!" He found a word he recognized and he pointed to it and smiled. "Soupe!" She gave him a small smile at the attempt for levity. "We'll figure something out," he repeated and squeezed her hand.

She tried to smile back, but his vague assurance clearly didn't convince her. He tried to come up with some plan of action for them, every so often looking across the way at the man in the polo-neck. There really wasn't anything they could do except return to London. They had no way of getting in touch with the magical community here. They had no way to travel. They had little money of any kind. Logic said return home. He glanced to Hermione. She was gazing out the large glass windows, at the rain still pouring down off the roof in sheets.

"Say it is raining," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"In French, say it is raining."

"Il pleut." She looked confused as she said the words.

"Say I would like some chocolate," Ron requested.

"Je voudrais du chocolat."

"Say 'you are very pretty'," he requested teasingly.

"Tu es trés jolie," Hermione replied quietly and pushed a wet strand of hair behind her head at the back-handed compliment.

"Say 'you are beautiful'," he pressed with a smile, pleased that the playful banter seemed to take her mind off their situation for at least a few minutes.

"Tu es belle."

"Tu es belle," Ron practiced. "Tu es belle."

The compliment and playful nature of his words seemed to soothe her slightly, but she quickly returned to her agitated state, her fingers drumming on the table beneath his. They said little while waiting for their French Onion soup and even less after it arrived. In fact, the soup seemed to pull Hermione away from him. Ron noted an increasingly far off look on her face the more time that passed. He recognized that look. He'd seen it on the train from Hogwarts, after Ginny had inquired about her parents.

"I ate here with mum and dad," she finally said, pushing her spoon around the tureen sadly. She looked around the restaurant and her eyes fixed on a booth in the opposite corner. "I remember dad ordered the boeuf bourgignon and he said it was the best thing he'd ever eaten."

"Well, if you'd told me that I would have ordered it." Ron tried to get her to smile, but failed.

"Mum tried to make it for him when we got back home, but…it wasn't the same." She gave a sad smile at the recollection. Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair like he did whenever Hermione talked about her parents. It had happened so rarely this year. The few times she'd mentioned them he'd never been quite sure what to do. What she'd done had been completely mental, erasing her parents memories and sending them to the other side of the world. It had also been absolutely brilliant and the perfect way to keep them safe.

"We'll find them, Hermione," he stated simply.

"We're one Portkey in and things have already gone pear-shaped," she gave a miserable laugh and covered her face with her hand.

"Well, I was thinking…Fleur's family is in Toulouse," he offered. "Do you think maybe we could find them?" He'd only met Madame and Monsieur Delacour last August, but Gabrielle knew both him and Hermione. Surely they could help.

"Toulouse is on the other side of the country." Hermione shook her head. "Even if we got there, we have no way of locating her family."

"Do we know anyone else in France?"

"No."

"Is there any sort of Knight Bus here in France?"

"No."

"Well then…don't you think we ought to go back to England?"

"No." Hermione's one-word answers were so unusual they were unnerving.

"The Ministry ought to know their bloody Portkey nearly got us killed - "

"We don't know that it was the Ministry!" she interrupted crossly.

"Right, well, all signs point to someone from the Ministry trying to kill us."

"It could have been Muggles coming around the corner, we don't know that anyone was actually trying to kill us." She gave a laugh that almost seemed to mock his suggestion then.

"If you thought it was just Muggles, why did you Disapparate?" Ron countered then and Hermione was silent. For a long time neither of them said a thing.

"I don't want to go backwards." She pushed her spoon around. Ron wanted to argue that going backward would just mean starting over, but he kept silent. For some reason, he heard his mum's words in his head about taking care of her and he sensed Hermione's desire to move forward had little to do with what made sense. "I need to get there," she murmured, "I needed to get there yesterday."

At the words, he suddenly recalled that going to Australia to get her parents was one of the first things she'd mentioned in the aftermath of the battle as they'd been climbing down the stairs from Gryffindor Tower. He knew the only reason she hadn't left to fetch them sooner was because of him. She had stayed to support him and his family. Now he needed to support her, even if he didn't agree with her.

"I knew we should have brought my broom," he stated with a loud sigh. Hermione's eyes shot up from the table at him then, appearing thoroughly surprised by his lack of a rebuttal.

"As if we could fly all the way to Australia on your Cleansweep," she muttered at the ridiculous notion and Ron saw the faintest makings of a smile.

"It wouldn't have hurt," he defended, pleased that his statement had diverted her attention from her sadness, if only for a moment. "What other options do we have aside from flying anywhere?"

"Well, I've got one idea." Hermione chewed on her lip. "But you aren't going to like it."

She was right. He didn't like it. He couldn't believe there wasn't anyone else on the entire continent they could contact. He felt like it was some kind of bad joke. He still thought going back to London was their best option, but she was adamant about continuing on and not going back. Still, he couldn't believe there were no other alternatives aside from what she'd suggested. He couldn't believe that this was the course of action she wanted to take to continue onto Australia. He'd been in a sour mood since she'd raised the idea.

The rain had finally stopped and they left the brasserie, paying for their soup with the small amount of French Muggle money Hermione had secured from her room back in Henley. They were now seated on a bench outside watching Muggles climb off and on a nearly constant stream of buses. While nothing out of the ordinary had happened during their meal, Ron was still on alert. He still had his wand tucked just under his sleeve, ready to be drawn at any moment.

"I don't understand why you think he can help us."

"Because he's a wizard and he's got connections and he can put us in touch with other wizards and probably even the Ministry," she argued.

"I bet we can find a wizard here."

"Not with the contacts Viktor has."

"And what exactly do you think he can do?"

"I told you already! All the Portkeys except for the ones in Russia operate daily. If we get to Bulgaria, he can put us in touch with high-ranking people in the Ministry and we can move forward and get to Australia!" Ron could detect more than a touch of aggravation to her voice, but he refused to relent.

"I still think we should go back to London."

"You just don't want to go have to ask Viktor for help," she stated plainly. Ron wished there wasn't a kernel of truth in the accusation.

"No, I just don't think wandering into Bulgaria and getting even more lost is a particularly good idea."

"We're not lost. We're in Dijon," she replied sharply.

"We might as well be lost!" He threw up his hands in frustration, temporarily forgetting his personal vow in the restaurant to keep her smiling and support her. "We're completely out of touch with the magical world, stuck in this Muggle city, we've got no means of contacting anyone, no idea how to get around and your big plan is to go bugger off to Bulgaria and find Viktor Krum!"

"We're not stuck and I know how to get around!" she thundered in reply, ignoring his gibe about Krum.

"Then why don't we go find a rail station and get back to London," he muttered again for the umpteenth time, dropping his head into his hands in exasperation. He didn't want to have an argument out here on a park bench surrounded by Muggles who he already thought were giving him curious looks, but he couldn't stop himself. He saw no sense in continuing on blindly and putting their faith in Krum when they could simply go back to London, report what had happened, figure out if they'd been set up or not, and start over again. That was a plan that made sense.

"Because I don't want to go back, how many times do I have to tell you?" Hermione wailed. "I want to find my parents!"

"We can still find your parents," Ron tried to reason as calmly as possible. "We'll just take a day to get back on track."

"I don't want to take another day!" she cried. "They're my parents, Ron! Don't you get it? My parents!"

"I get it - "

"No, you don't!" she fired. "You know where your parents are and how they're doing."

"I didn't for most of the year," he reminded her.

"Right! And do you remember how that felt? Do you remember how much that ate away at you?" She blinked back tears and Ron immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over him and a pit forming in his stomach that he'd reduced her to tears. "I know I don't talk about them a lot, but they're my parents," she clutched her chest with both hands. "My mum and dad!"

Ron sucked in a steadying breath at her emotional plea. She wasn't making sense. She was concocting the kind of hair-brained scheme she would shoot down in a heartbeat if it came from him. She was suggesting they leave the safety of a city where she, at least, knew her way around and spoke the language, to travel to a place they didn't know and didn't speak the language and to put their faith in a man they weren't even sure would be there. Going back to London would cost them a day or two at most. Yet that seemed to be more time than she was willing to give. For some reason, moving forward in their journey was all that really mattered to her. Not because it made sense or because it was the rational and logical choice, but because it meant something. Maybe just the fact that she was moving forward, that she was trying to reach her parents and not retreating meant something to her.

He looked out to the square where Muggles at every corner waited to board and debark a series of numbered buses. It seemed like a rather complicated system. Hermione had tried to explain to him when they'd first sat down. She told him about the different routes all over the city and how you had to memorize the routes and know your stop and your bus number. Ron though it sounded entirely too complicated.

"So can we take one of those to Bulgaria?" He nodded toward a bus finally in acceptance.

"No," Hermione replied softly after a moment to allow her surprise to settle in. "No, traveling by bus would take quite a while."

"Will we have to fly in one of those horrible aeroplanes then?" He cringed, but again spoke with a degree of acceptance that Hermione seemed to notice.

"I think traveling by rail will be our best bet." Ron brightened considerably at Hermione's words. Traveling by rail he could do. Trains were familiar. "It'll be expensive though," she grimaced. "And I really wanted to save my money for when we arrived in Australia, but I suppose we've no other choice."

"Well, I have an idea," Ron murmured then, "but you aren't going to like it."


	22. Chapter 22

Hermione's French skills and Ron's wand-work would be the lynchpin of their plan to secure their passage to Bulgaria. The illegality of the plan didn't seem to bother Hermione nearly as much as Ron thought it might. They would essentially be stealing, after all. This was the kind of use of magic that she frowned upon and so did the rest of the magical community, including his dad. They'd be tricking Muggles to get a free train ride. If France had some version of the Improper Use of Magic Office in their Department of Magical Law Enforcement and they were discovered, Ron didn't even want to think about what would happen to them. Surely, they didn't send wizards to prison for this kind of offense, but he knew they would be punished somehow.

Hermione's ready acceptance of his relatively simplistic, but illegal and dangerous plan, was unsettling. He was accustomed to Hermione finding gaping holes and flaws in his ideas, contingencies he'd never considered that always made him feel quite foolish. Part of him wanted to believe he'd thought through everything and his plan was perfectly brilliant, but another part of him knew she was just desperate to continue on and they had no other options aside from what he'd suggested.

"We'll want high-speed rail as much as we can." She looked hard at the maps and departure tables, talking more to herself than to him. "And I think we'll want to try to avoid going up through Vienna and Budapest. Milan and Belgrade look like they'd be quicker."

"Right." Ron felt quite useless. He didn't feel like telling her he wasn't quite sure of the relative location of any of those cities to Dijon or Bulgaria. Standing in the Dijon rail station, he suddenly wished he had bothered to take note of how Muggles got their tickets and how the rail station at King's Cross actually worked. The journey to Bulgaria would be a bit more complex than simply boarding a train at Platform 9 ¾ and handing over a ticket.

"We can leave here at 7:30, take that one to Milan, and change trains there. Then we can go through to Belgrade and there's a direct train with no changes that will get us into Sofia at about…" She looked down at the timetable in her hand. "7 AM."

"So it's only a twelve hour trip then?" Ron brightened up considerably.

"7 AM on Thursday."

"But that's nearly two days on a train!"

"It's the best we can do. There's no direct line anywhere close to Sofia."

"How do Muggles live like this? Two days just to travel there?" He gaped at the map and pointed to Bulgaria, which didn't seem all that far away from where they were in France. He didn't bother pointing out the huge flaw in her plan, which was that if they just took a train to London they could potentially be in Australia in two days' time.

"It's the best we can do," Hermione replied defensively.

"What if he can't even help us? What if we get to Bulgaria and we're stuck just like we are here, only farther away from home?"

"Then we'll be closer to Australia," she replied. There was a fiercely determined look in her eye that made Ron feel a rush of affection for her even if he thought this was a terrible idea. She was stubborn enough that he knew there was no sense trying to argue with her. Whatever mental reason had her so driven on continuing on, whether it was because turning around meant admitting defeat or moving further away from her parent's somehow, Ron knew there was no convincing her otherwise.

They'd get to Australia, of that he had no doubt. And two days alone on a train with Hermione didn't exactly sound like the worst plan in the world. He wasn't about to argue with her. For the past eight days, she'd stood by him and just let him be sad. She let him escape when he wanted and hide from everything back at the Burrow. Ron wondered for the briefest of moment as he glanced over at her, chewing on her lip and studying the complicated web of train routes, if this was all part of an escape too. Perhaps this detour to Bulgaria was a way of somehow prolonging finding her parents. It didn't make any sense considering the tears she'd almost shed out on the bench by the bus stop. She'd complained about needing to find them now and wanting to be with them yesterday. Yet she seemed to be purposefully choosing a route that would delay such a reunion. It was all just completely mental. He wouldn't even try to reason her out. All he knew was she'd let him be sad; so he'd let her not make sense for once in her life.

He pretended to lean over and look at the timetable in her hand then, his eyes actually studying her furrowed brow and the nervous way she kept chewing on her lip. It honestly made him want to lean over and kiss her lip, which seemed to grow in size the more she chewed on it, but he doubted this was an appropriate time for such activities. They hadn't actually kissed since yesterday evening up in her bedroom in Henley, which he remembered all too well had ended with her shoving him off of her and him resting with a pillow in his lap. He had no idea what the seating on the train would be like, but he hoped they had private compartments. Weaving his fingers between hers, he looked toward the ticket window.

"Shall we?"

"No, let go." She shook his hand away. "You'll need your wand hand, remember?"

"And when do I do it again?"

"Wait until he's got everything in the computer."

"The what?"

"Never mind." Hermione dismissed. "When he asks for my credit card, that's when you do it. Remember the word credit card."

"And what is that again?"

"Never mind what it is. Just listen for him to say it."

"I still think we'd be safer using the Imperius - "

"No!" She shook her head before he could even finish. "I don't want us to have to use that ever again. Besides, if we got caught using it in another country, I don't even know what the repercussions might be."

"But I've never done a confundus charm before," he protested uncertainly.

"No, you've done ten times harder than that," she countered. "You're a great wizard. You'll be fine." Ron forgot his uncertainty and looked quite pleased at her flattery. "The trick isn't going to be the charm, it's going to be avoiding the cameras and not being seen by any Muggles."

"I wish Harry had given us his cloak," Ron grumbled.

"You'll be fine," she assured again, but he could see she was even looking a bit apprehensive. "Just remember, when he asks for my credit card."

"Right."

"Are you nervous?" She chewed on her lip.

"Well, what did you say happens if we get caught by Muggles again?" Ron looked out to the long curved row of glass ticket windows that suddenly looked more foreboding than Gringott's. For some reason he wished he was dressed like Dragomir Despard again.

"We won't get caught," she spoke confidently, "just act natural. Let's go."

She took the hand she had just released and squeezed it tightly as she began the walk to the window.

"Hermione, I need my wand hand, remember?" he reminded.

"Right!" She released his hand, but not before he could give her his best attempt at a confident squeeze in reply. There were ten numbered windows, but only three of them had people working behind them. One was an elderly gentleman, one a middle-aged woman with thick wavy hair, and the last was a young man not much older than themselves. Hermione strode toward the young man on the far left.

"Bonjour mademoiselle," he greeted Hermione with a smile. He had blonde hair that curled around his ears, a charming smile, and an earring in one ear. Ron immediately felt a dislike for the way he smiled at Hermione. "Comment puis-je vous aider?"

"En Anglais, s'il vous plait," Hermione replied graciously and she offered a smile in return.

"Ah, but of course, mademoiselle. How can I help you today?" he replied in perfect English.

"We're traveling to Sofia," she informed, "and need to get there as soon as possible."

"Sofia? Ah, wonderful. You are…visiting family?"

"An old friend." Hermione's response made Ron bristle beside her. She cast him a remonstrating look. "We'd like to go through Milan to Belgrade, unless there is a faster route?"

"Eef you went and changed trains in Zurich, you would be on a faster rail line for more of zee trip," the young man spoke with the same smile Ron found too inviting. "You would have to change trains only three times. You and your…friend - " He eyed Ron, "- are in a hurry to get there, no?"

"Boyfriend," Ron butted in as he stepped closer to Hermione and moved a hand to her waist. "Her boyfriend."

Hermione blushed at his possessiveness, but Ron could tell she had enjoyed hearing it as much as he enjoyed saying it.

"Yes, well, zee line from Budapest eez the fastest and 'as couchettes available."

"But that's going north to go south, isn't it?" Ron stepped in again.

"I assure you, eet iz a much faster train," he shrugged. "And zere are only four stops on zee line from Dijon to Zurich."

"So it's not faster to go through Milan?" Hermione looked crestfallen. Ron wondered if perhaps she had been looking forward to traveling through the city, even if it only meant passing through the train station.

"I am afraid not."

"We'll take the faster line through Zurich then."

"And would you like couchettes or a sleeping car for the train to Sofia?"

"Sleeper cars, please."

"Yes, and 'ow ill you be paying for zis, mademoiselle?"

"By credit card." Hermione opened up her bag and nodded to Ron. He looked over both shoulders to scan the empty station. There was thankfully nobody behind them in line, but there was a mother and baby seated on a bench by the stairs and two young girls beside the maps and timetables where he and Hermione had just been. Both appeared preoccupied. Ron looked to the ticket window, awaiting the directions Hermione had given him for when to draw his wand. The young man kept his eyes trained on Ron like he was waiting for something, but he said nothing specific about her credit card.

Ron waited. He looked to Hermione uncertainly, whose eyes were darting back and forth between him and the ticket agent. She looked agitated and just widened her eyes like she was trying to speak to him.

"Eez zere a problem, mademoiselle?" he inquired. Hermione eyed Ron's wand hand tellingly and this time Ron caught on. He glanced behind him one last time before letting his wand drop from his sleeve and pointing it at the young man. A frightened look crossed the young man's face. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he exclaimed in French at the fourteen inch stick of wood being pointed at him.

"Now, Ron!" Hermione whispered urgently.

"Confundus!"

The poor young man immediately looked as if he'd been hit on the head with a pile of bricks. A dazed expression crossed his face and he furrowed his eyebrows and frowned at the two of them.

"Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?" he murmured to himself and then again to them. "Votre carte de credit, s'il vous plait!"

"It didn't work, Ron, do it again," Hermione ordered under her breath.

"Again?" Ron looked around nervously.

"Just do it!"

"Confundus," Ron repeated and pointed his wand at the young man again before quickly hiding it back up his sleeve. He almost felt bad for the ticket agent, who again looked as if he'd been clobbered with a ton of bricks. He looked out at Ron and Hermione from behind bleary eyes. Ron looked around the room cautiously, hoping again no one had seen him pull out his wand. He could just picture himself getting carted away by the Muggle police and leaving Hermione alone in a Dijon rail station.

"Comment puis-je vous aider?" he asked a bit unsteadily.

"Nos billets?" Hermione asked expectantly, reverting back to French in the hopes the young man would comply.

"Bien sur, bien sur." The young man looked to the screen in front of him and scratched his head, his confusion evident. "Vos billets, oui…." Ron heard Hermione blow out a sigh of relief, but he was holding his breath until he had the tickets in his hand. Seconds ticked by as he waited for the little pieces of paper that determined their next move. He couldn't exhale unless he saw them. He imagined his face was turning purple. He pictured the young man calling his superiors. He pictured officials asking him questions in French, which he could not understand. He pictured Hermione being detained, locked in a room and questioned by a separate set of officials.

"Alors, voici vos billets pour Zurich, Budapest, Belgrade et Sofia."The young man finally emerged, looking slightly less confused than he had before.

"Merci beacoup pour votre aide," Hermione thanked him as soon as he placed the tickets in her hands. "Merci, merci," she repeated over and over.

Ron looked to the young man behind the glass and wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist snugly as he turned from the window. If Hermione disapproved of the possessive action she said nothing. Instead, she simply led him over to the bench the mother and child had just been seated in. He kept his hand wrapped around her as they both took a seat. She leaned into his shoulder and looked back to the ticket window. He finally let out a breath and allowed his lungs to take in some air.

"Now we wait."

He didn't know six hours could feel quite so long. Their departure from the Burrow, the morning in the Ministry, even the French Onion soup all felt like days ago as they sat in the train station and watched people come and go for hour after hour while they waited for their train. They made a game out of guessing where travelers were headed, what they were doing, who they were. Ron wasn't very good at it, as he knew few Muggle professions aside from a dentist and a football player. The game distracted them from the potential thought that there might be someone on their heels and that parking themselves in a public place like they were might not be the greatest idea.

Ron thought back to the question he'd posed to Hermione outside the restaurant that she hadn't been able to answer. He wondered if there really were people after them and if they had they been set up. Were they being tracked? Or were they just hyper aware after months and months of being chased for their lives? The Portkey had been wrong, but he knew from his dad's old job that Portkeys got messed up all the time without any truly nefarious purpose. He wondered if Hermione recognized it too and if she was thinking the same thing. Maybe they had overreacted. Maybe they were just so accustomed to seeing danger that they saw it even when there wasn't any. The man in the blue polo-neck had really seemed to be having dinner with his wife. He hadn't so much as glanced at the two of them the entire meal once Ron quit staring at him. Now they were here, sitting in the Dijon rail station and he wondered if perhaps they'd messed up. Perhaps he should have let Hermione take them to Bercy. Then they could have already been in Australia

But when he read and reread the Daily Prophet stuffed into his pocket, he was convinced they were right. Death Eaters still at large - vowing revenge - targeting those involved in Voldemort's downfall. The pieces all fit together. It was like solving mysteries back at Hogwarts with Harry. There were Death Eaters still hunting people, Darling had been acting strange, and the Portkey hadn't taken them to Paris. It all added up.

Despite the possible danger, he felt an odd sense of comfort at the entire situation. This was so unlike the past week at the Burrow. They had a purpose again and a clear destination in mind. They'd had their setbacks, but he'd actually gotten a bizarre sort of pleasure out of figuring out what to do. He hated that she'd come undone on the bench by the buses like she had, but he liked being able to take care of her again.

"Lawyer, going to Brussels, on business," Hermione remarked at the gentleman with salt and pepper hair in a three-piece suit who had just entered the station. She sounded surprisingly upbeat, happy even. Ron wondered how much faith she was putting in Krum.

"Do you really think he'll be able to help us?" He tried his best to sound non-confrontational, but he couldn't stand the thought of her getting her hopes up only to be let down. Not if he could step in now to fix it.

"Yes," she stated positively. "Yes, I know he'll help us."

"When's the last time you talked to him?" he asked quietly then, trying hard to avoid the jealous tone of voice he always got when he talked about Viktor Krum. "Before the wedding, I mean, when was the last time you talked to him?"

"Last Christmas," she confessed after a long pause. Ron thought he could detect the slightest twinge of guilt in her voice. "You were with Lavender," she offered up an explanation before he could even speak up in protest.

"Last Christmas you went to the party with MaClaggen?" he remarked with a furrowed brow.

"I did."

"And you were also writing Viktor?"

"I was."

"Hermione Granger!" Ron managed a laugh as he looked to her with raised eyebrows.

"I just wished him a good holiday, that's all," she dismissed and pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

"And you really remember his address?" he asked with raised eyebrows. She nodded her head and Ron didn't bother to inquire what they would do if he wasn't at home. The International Quidditch season would just be winding down and there was more than a slight chance he would be out of the country. Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder and looked toward the door, waiting for the next travelers. Ron smiled and followed her gaze. Three young blondes chattering rapidly in French with shopping bags and fancy suitcases had just entered.

"University students," Hermione remarked, nodding at the girls. "Going to Florence and definitely for pleasure."

The game continued until an hour before their high-speed Eurorail train arrived. They shared one of his mum's ham sandwiches and journeyed to a shop near the entrance of the train station to buy groceries with what little French money she had left

He was intrigued by the French coins Hermione had and wanted to hold onto the ten franc piece very much. He liked the look of it, with its outer ring of bronze and contrasting center of aluminum. The money came from an envelope she'd pulled out of her drawer in Henley. She had a whole drawer full of money from around the world that she had collected over the years. Learning about the drawer of coins had surprised him, the same way her French language skills had. He liked that there were still tiny parts of her he didn't know, even after all these years.

He felt like each day he learned a little more about her. Today, he realized she could speak French and she liked to hold onto his arm when they walked. She didn't hold his hand anymore. It was like holding hands wasn't quite close enough for her. She liked to link both arms around his, wrapping his arm up tight in an exhilaratingly possessive manner. He'd noticed it for the first time when they'd been searching for cover in the rain. Then she'd been attached to him on their walk to the rail station, and she'd hardly let go since. He didn't even have to do anything. He just had to let her cling to him.

The way she was nestled against him, even now as they walked the aisles of the store together, made him eager to see the inside of these sleeping cars from Zurich to Budapest. He pictured compartments like on the Hogwarts Express, only with giant fluffy mattresses inside. He wondered if all four trains would have a dining car and candy trolley as well and what kind of money they would accept.

"So how much more of this French Muggle money do you have?" He inquired, eyeing the shelves of colorfully wrapped biscuits and sweets. Even though he couldn't understand what the packaging said, he could make out from the pictures on the front that there were biscuits topped with raspberry filling and marshmallows dipped in chocolate. For a moment, he forgot where they were and how he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the exit and the shopkeeper. He felt like he was back at Honeydukes.

"Enough to buy some of those if you want." She smiled at his obvious interest.

"Only if we can afford it," he shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant.

Ron watched Hermione peruse the shelves, wondering what exactly she was looking for. His mum had practically emptied the entire cupboard into Hermione's beaded bag back at the Burrow. They had enough food to last for a whole week. There were cans of beans and tins of kipper and a bag of crisps. He'd drawn the line at a loaf of bread, but now he found himself wishing he hadn't as he saw Hermione pull a small loaf off the shelf and put it into her basket.

"It was really smart of you to bring this French Muggle money," he complimented. "I'd never have thought of that."

"I didn't do it because I thought we'd need to," she admitted then and laughed at herself. "I just wanted to take you to this pâtisserie in Paris."

"Are those the chocolate shops?" Ron recalled the incredible windows they'd walked by in the rain.

"Oh, they're so much more than chocolate!" Hermione closed her eyes. "Lemon tarts and giant meringues as big as your head and éclairs and pastries and cakes."

"Sounds like a bit of heaven," Ron grinned at how well she knew him. "It was smart to bring it," he repeated with a comforting smile.

"Your plan was really smart." She turned to him and did the same. "A bit illegal, mind you."

"Well, I reckon the world owes us a few free train rides," Ron scoffed. Hermione didn't counter the statement, just continued walking down the aisle past bottles of water and flavored syrup. He peered warily over her shoulder when a fat man in a suit entered the store to purchase a newspaper, and he fingered the wand that was still up his sleeve when two olive-skinned youths passed through the candy aisle they had just been in. He tried to be discrete as he peered over her head to the next aisle, but he knew she could see it.

"Do you think they're the same people?" she asked. "I mean, the people who killed Theodore Nott. Do you think it's the same people who…who…"

"Sabotaged our Portkey?" Ron finished her sentence. She just nodded her head. "I dunno. Could be. The paper says they've vowed revenge and all. I reckon somebody could have gotten their hands on the Portkey."

"I really thought this was all over." She blew out a weary sigh.

"It is over," Ron assured her. "Whoever killed Nott, whoever did this it's just some desperate people who are angry that they backed the wrong side…again." He tried to comfort her, but she seemed thoroughly unconvinced. He wasn't even sure he believed his own words. Being out in a Muggle city exposed like they were unnerved him as much as it had back in Hermione's hometown. He'd stopped mentioning it after they left the café, but everybody they passed on the street seemed suspicious. There was a reason he'd chosen to sit in the rail station by the front door. There was a reason he wouldn't even let her walk to the loo by herself. The world didn't feel safe. He could ignore it briefly, drooling over sweets and holding Hermione's hand, but he couldn't relax for long.

"He was good at potions," Hermione finally murmured.

"Who?"

"Theodore," she spoke plainly, referring to the dead Slytherin by his first name, as if they had been close friends. "He was the only other fifth year to get an Outstanding on his OWLs , did you know that?"

"I know he was a racist bastard," Ron remarked coldly.

"He fought for us."

"After he probably saw people dying!" he laughed. "After his dad tried to kill all of us fifth year," he reminded her. "Don't you remember he was at the Department of Mysteries? For all we know, his dad's the one who hit you with that curse." He shuddered recalling the curse Harry told him about that had nearly killed her.

"No, it was Dolohov that cursed me," she murmured casually like she was talking about a Hogwarts professor who had given her poor marks.

"No matter. He was there! He could have done it."

"People change," she insisted and shook his head. "Clearly Theodore wasn't his father if he came back with Slughorn."

Ron just grumbled something under his breath in response. He felt like he'd had too many of these conversations this week, first about Snape, then about Narcissa Malfoy, and now Theodore Nott. He didn't understand why Hermione and Harry were so quick to forgive after all that had been lost.

"He didn't deserve that," Hermione murmured then. Ron knew she was probably picturing Nott's dead and disfigured body impaled on the pikes of an iron gate.

"He wasn't exactly a stand-up guy, Hermione. Even if he did have a change of heart at the very end."

"Do you think he deserved what happened to him?" Hermione turned to face him then. She looked rather cross, like she already expected to know his answer. Ron paused a moment before answering.

He didn't actually know a whole lot about Theodore Nott. He was tall like Ron and for his first few years at Hogwarts Ron just called him the tall Slytherin. He was smart like Hermione had said. Ron had to begrudgingly admit he'd been one of the few Slytherins that actually deserved Snape's praise in potions class. He spent a fair amount of time in the library too. Ron only knew because it seemed every time he'd set foot in there Nott had been there as well. He wasn't friends with Draco. In fact, he didn't seem to have many friends. He'd seemed to get friendlier with Draco once both their fathers got thrown in Azkaban though. He didn't seem too fond of Harry after that and Ron knew he'd heard him express disdain for Muggleborns on at least one occasion.

Yet he had made a momentary decision to turn his back on everything he knew. Ron wondered what had actually prompted him to do it. He wondered what Mr. Nott thought of his son's decision. His dad had said yesterday evening that Theodore's mutilated body had been found outside his uncle's house. Why his uncle's, Ron wondered? Had his dad turned his back on him? Ron blanched briefly at the possibility that Nott's own father may have been the one who strung him up. Mr. Nott was a cold and cruel man, among the oldest and most loyal of Voldemort's followers. Ron wouldn't put it past him to murder his own son if he'd betrayed the cause.

"No," Ron replied and then gave a shrug. "I reckon he didn't deserve what happened to him. But neither did Fred."

Hermione offered no reply at the mention of his brother. It was the first time he'd really thought about Fred all day. The familiar wave of guilt that he'd confessed to Hermione last night washed over him. His brother hadn't been in the ground for three days and he was already forgetting about him. Six hours of traveling with Hermione and he wasn't even an afterthought. Maybe his mum was right to keep Fred's broom out on the mantle where everyone could see it. Maybe all the reminders he had run from at the Burrow were necessary. Maybe he needed something to remind him that the world was a bit darker because Fred Weasley was no longer in it.

Perhaps he'd get tattooed somewhere. He knew a wizard in Diagon Alley who could do tattoos that moved. He could do a spinning Catherine Wheel or a jackal like Fred's Patronus, or maybe just his initials. He'd put it somewhere like the back of his hand or his forearm, someplace where he'd never forget it.

Because he hated forgetting Fred.

She knew what he was thinking about. He didn't even try to pretend. Hermione always knew. She could probably see the pursing of his lips and the way he swallowed as he felt a lump rise in his throat. She didn't lift her head or look at him or say anything though. She let him be sad and feel guilty about the fact that all he'd thought about today had been her. She paid for the handful of items she'd collected, which Ron was pleased to see included a sleeve of biscuits, and silently returned with him to the spot on the shiny tiled floor where they'd already sat for hours. She didn't tell him to stop feeling guilty or assure him it was completely natural. She just moved a hand onto his thigh like she had so many times beneath the kitchen table back at the Burrow.

Ron smiled at the intimate placement of her hand, at the familiarity it conveyed with him and with their relationship. So much had happened in ten days time he couldn't imagine where her hand might rest in ten more. He cursed himself under his breath for again getting carried away with thoughts so trivial and shallow and that weren't about his brother.

"How much longer 'til our train?" he asked for the hundredth time that afternoon.

"It leaves at quarter til," she replied simply and leaned into his shoulder. Of course, he knew he would forget about Fred. He'd laugh again one day and not feel guilty. He'd snog Hermione without reminding himself that the first night they'd done that had been the same day his brother had been killed. He knew he would eventually, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that that was wrong somehow and a part of him didn't want it to ever happen. The world shouldn't go back to normal without Fred in it.

She rubbed his leg soothingly, in a manner that told him she knew exactly what thoughts were swirling around his brain, but she remained silent still and let her fingers do the talking. Her touch was soft, but there was almost a sort of longing in the way her thumb grazed the inside of his thigh. Ron closed his eyes and leaned his head against the smooth tiled wall, wondering again about what the sleeper car that would take them through Switzerland, Austria, and Hungary would look like.

Their plan was shit. Wandering blindly across the continent, spending two days on a train just to find Viktor Krum and appeal to him for help was the most nonsensical course of action he could ever even attempt to think up.

It's what Hermione had wanted though. Maybe a part of her had wanted to see Dijon again with him. He'd still been on alert on their walk to the train station, looking down alleys and through shop windows. She had delighted in pointing out gardens and restaurants and telling stories about the city. Ron knew there had to be magic in a city that looked and sounded as old as she was describing. When she'd told him about the lucky owl carved into the side of an old Gothic cathedral, it had sounded like the curious kind of thing wizards might do. But Hermione wanted to travel on in Muggle fashion. She had wanted to stop by the chocolate shop in Paris. She wanted to enjoy the city streets and didn't want him looking over his shoulder or surveying every person they passed on the pavement. She wanted to be normal.

So Ron would indulge her. When she leaned her head into his shoulder, he leaned his head right back so it rested atop hers. He thought about the train ride and the bottle of wine Hermione had bought and when exactly she planned on drinking it. He looked down at the delicate way her hand moved over his leg. He thought about what Zurich and Budapest and Belgrade and Sofia would look like and what exactly he and Hermione would do for thirty-two hours on four different trains. He wondered if they would finish talking about the things they'd started to up in her bedroom last night, about forethought and responsibility and wanting each other. He smiled when he thought back to those four glorious words she'd spoken to him last night. He didn't think about his brother or her parents or who was after them. He would just think about her. And he found the guilt didn't feel so bad when he told himself he was helping Hermione.


	23. Chapter 23

He was on edge the entire two hour trip to Zurich. The train only stopped four times, but each time it lurched to a halt and the doors opened and new passengers climbed aboard, Ron's hand went to his wand pocket. He disliked the lack of private compartments and kept asking Hermione how much longer until they would be on the train with the sleeping car, which he was eagerly looking forward to seeing. He didn't like the uniformed man who kept asking for papers and tickets and passports. He disliked the long wait they had in Basil when the train just sat there for what felt like hours. He didn't like that they had to sit across from an old Italian man who looked them up and down with a glare when they'd taken their seats.

But for everything he disliked about traveling on the boring and crowded Muggle train there were things he was thankful for. He was grateful that after reading his newspaper the old Italian man seemed content to sleep most of the journey and not speak to them. He was grateful Hermione knew what a passport was and was able to keep track of it amidst the myriad of documents Percy had passed along to them from Kingsley. He was grateful she could navigate the Muggle train station with ease and get them onto their next train so they could continue onto Zurich. The sleeping car however was disappointing and looked nothing like Ron imagined.

"There's not room to swing a Kneazle in here!" he complained as they squeezed through the door one after another. The compartment was so narrow they could not even stand side by side.

"At least it's private," she remarked in an attempt to remain cheerful, but Ron could see even she looked a bit crestfallen by its size.

"Is that the only bed?" he asked bluntly, noting the small flat seat that looked more like a bench than a mattress. He doubted he'd even be able to fit onto it by himself.

"No, the other one comes out of the wall, see?" She leaned over the mattress and pulled a series of latches so another bench fell out of the wall.

"Right." Ron's heart fell even further when he saw they would indeed be sleeping in bunk beds just like he and Harry had all year. He turned to the door to hide his disappointment as he cast the usual protective enchantments on the door. The series of spells had become so second-nature he wondered if he'd ever enter a new place and not put them up. "I wish there was a window." He looked about the walls of the tiny room. "I like being able to look outside."

"It's dark out. You wouldn't really be able to see anything."

"I suppose." Ron still thought he'd at least like a window out to the rest of the train. He felt trapped here. The little compartment felt claustrophobic. There was so little room and nothing here to hide behind should someone enter. He was hit with a sudden urge to practice his Shield Charm. "You reckon we're safe on here, right?"

"Do you want to eat something?" Hermione proposed brightly, dropping down on the bed and reaching into the beaded bag to pull out some of the food his mum had packed.

"Erm – I guess." He didn't comment on the fact that Hermione didn't answer his question. She was surprisingly upbeat, her spirits apparently cheered by the simple fact that they were moving further East.

They sat side by side on the bottom bunk, looking over the rail maps and sharing a dinner of ham sandwiches and mustard crisps. Hermione had her legs folded up beneath her and the map of Europe spread out on her lap.

"I'm guessing we're probably right about here." She scrunched up her face and pointed to a spot in Eastern Switzerland.

"And where are we going?" He peered over her shoulder to the map in her lap.

"Do you honestly not know where we're going?" she sighed in exasperation.

"I know we'll end up in Bulgaria," he laughed. "And I know we're going to be on this train for twelve hours."

"Do you know where we get off the train?"

"Not Bulgaria."

"Do you know what country we'll be in after we get through Liechtenstein?" she quizzed.

"Not Bulgaria." He laughed again, well aware they'd be in Austria, but thoroughly enjoying getting a rise out of her. She shook her head, doing a very poor job disguising her smile, and quizzed him on his geography then, asking how many European mountain ranges he could name and what the capital of Serbia was and where the Danube River flowed. He was proving to her he did, in fact, know where the Carpathians were, when the knock sounded on the compartment door. He bristled at the sound and immediately reached for his wand.

"It's probably just a random passport check, remember." She soothed, moving a hand over his.

"I thought you said we wouldn't have any of those until we got to Hungary," he frowned.

"I said they could still happen," she sounded wearily, reaching into her bag to retrieve their passports.

"Stay here. Let me open the door." He got to his feet quickly, wiping his hands, which were greasy from the crisps, on his trousers. They'd been so relaxed in the compartment, laughing and eating their sandwiches, he'd almost forgotten about the fear that had gripped him back in Dijon and the unknown threat that might be after them. Hermione sighed as he readied his wand and shouted through the door.

"Who is it?"

"Passport, please." A thick accented voice sounded through the door.

Ron opened the door up a crack and peered through. The sight of the uniformed officer was hardly a comfort and Ron surveyed him warily.

"Here you are." Hermione suddenly appeared beside him, forcing the door open a bit wider and handing over both their passports.

"What are you doing?" Ron frowned at her, annoyed that she'd ignored his order to stay on the bed. She appeared equally annoyed and ignored his inquiry, waiting patiently until their passports were handed back to them and the door closed. "You shouldn't have done that!" he growled protectively.

"It was a routine check," she sighed.

"Will we have any more of those?" He didn't like the idea of a stranger standing that close to them. Just the physical proximity had put him on edge.

"Once we get into Hungary, yes."

"I don't like it." Ron stated.

"I can tell," Hermione smirked and settled back onto the bed. "Come back and sit." She patted the mattress. His agitation over the random check and the stranger at the door quickly melted away at the request.

"Can we have the biscuits now?" He plopped down beside her and reached across her body for the French biscuits.

"You've still got to tell me the terminus of the Danube!" she laughed, holding the biscuits aloft.

"The Black Sea!" Ron laughed and snatched them out of her hand. "Now give them to me!"They laughed on the bed some more and ate biscuits and finished their makeshift dinner off with the bottle of French wine Hermione had purchased back at the rail station.

They sipped the wine for the better part of an hour, passing it back and forth and somehow it made Ron feel more grown-up, especially when Hermione would talk about it and the wine tour she'd gone on with her parents years ago. She remembered an impressive amount, which Ron knew he shouldn't be surprised about. "Can you taste the black cherries?" she inquired. "You're supposed to taste cherry and..." She held the bottle up and studied the label again then rifled through her beaded bag for the slip of paper that had come with the wine. "Cherries, plum and chocolate, I think." Hermione passed the bottle to him and he tipped it back to his lips.

"All that in a wine?" Ron snorted. "I just taste wine!"

"Well, you're not supposed to drink it like an ale!" Hermione chided at the way he gulped it. "You're supposed to savour it." Ron just laughed and looked at the half empty bottle. He reckoned he had drunk most of it. Hermione took tiny dainty sips whenever she had the bottle.

"Show me how to savor it then." He passed the bottle back to her.

"Gladly." She puffed out her chest and delicately lifted the bottle to her mouth for what seemed to only be a second before lowering it. She appeared to hold the wine in her mouth a moment before swallowing and licking her plump, now deep Burgundy red lips. "It's a deep, very complex wine," she explained, sounding very sure of herself.

"Deep and complex, huh?" He turned to her and raised his eyebrows skeptically, fighting back a grin.

"You should feel it in your mouth." She handed him the bottle. "There's different stages when you taste it, see."

"Oh, yeah?"

"First is the moment it hits your lips. That's the initial impression."

"And then?"

"Then you hold it in your mouth. You're not just supposed to swallow it. You're supposed to let it roll over your tongue then so you can try to taste the flavour, the cherry and chocolate and plumb."

"And what's after that?" Ron held the bottle in the air, but was staring at her lips, which were now very red from the wine, as she spoke. He wondered if she noticed he was staring.

"The finish. That's the most important."

"What's so important about it?"

"Because the flavour should linger after you've swallowed the wine. It should stay in your mouth and leave an impression and make you want more."

Ron took one last swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve before setting it on the rattling floor of the compartment.

"You didn't listen to anything I said, did you?" Hermione sighed wearily.

"No, I did," Ron assured, turning to her. "Honest, I did."

"You did not."

"Step one," he repeated quietly then and he moved both hands up to her face as he did. He heard her breath catch at the gentle caress and he did his best to repress a smile and remain serious. Wine tasting was deep and dark and complex, after all. He brushed her lips softly, taking first her top lip between his and then her bottom. Then he withdrew. "Step two." He moved back in now to deepen the kiss, rolling his tongue over hers just like she told him to do with the wine. Now he could taste the black cherries. "And step three." He pulled away ever-so-slowly, letting his lips linger over hers as he did. He waited a moment, licking his lips softly before opening his eyes, his face mere inches from hers and his breath warm on her face. "Did I leave an impression?" he whispered teasingly.

Then she was kissing him, her hands reaching out to grip the sides of his face desperately as if he might slide away. The pressure with which her mouth moved against his surprised him, but he grinned, pleased that his lame attempt at seduction had worked. She turned her body to his then and, with his face still gripped between her hands, pressed him forcefully back toward the mattress.

"Watch it!" He winced in pain as his head slammed into the wall in the tight confines of the bunk. "Gently!" he laughed at her urgency and rubbed his head, ruffling his hair up.

"Sorry!" She pulled away and covered her hands over her face, obviously mortified at her own clumsiness and how carried away she had gotten. "I'm so sorry!"

"S'alright," Ron tried to assure her that he was fine despite the fact that he was quite sure he'd have a lump at the back of his head tomorrow morning. "It's not your fault," he dismissed, ignoring the throbbing. "I don't really think they make these beds for tall people." He stretched out some more on the poor excuse of a bed, quite liking how cozy it felt despite its cramped confines, and hoping she would relax and join him.

This felt different from escaping to his bedroom back at the Burrow, different even from rolling around on her bed back in Henley last night. This time they were alone, completely and utterly alone. Things could happen. She probably knew that too. It was like him hitting his head had made her suddenly realise that. She'd been about to let go for a moment there, but now reality consumed her again. "Do you want to…er…" Do what? Snog? Get naked? Shag? Ron didn't even know what he was asking. He just didn't want it all to stop. "Do you want to take your shoes off?" he blurted out, "and…just…lie back." Lie back. What a pathetic twat he was. That's not what he wanted to do. He wanted her to lie back so he could do things to her. But you didn't just say things like that to Hermione Granger, even if you were her boyfriend.

He was relieved when he saw her lean over and slip off her shoes. He reckoned he should get more comfortable and do the same, so he sat up, banging his head only slightly on the low overhanging bunk.

"See?" he looked to her in assurance, massaging the top of his head, "they just don't make these for tall people. Not your fault."

She smiled at the attempt to make her feel better as he pulled his trainers off without even bothering to unlace them and hurriedly slid back onto the mattress. Hesitantly, she followed suit, squeezing in to lie beside him. For a brief moment they just sat there, crammed uncomfortably into the bunk, doing exactly as he'd suggested, just lying there.

"Where do you think we are?" he asked in an attempt at conversation, trying to figure out why this was so uncomfortable. It wasn't just the cramped confines either. This didn't feel natural anymore. It had for a moment there. She'd lunged at him after his lame attempt to charm her with the wine, kissing him in a desperate manner he hadn't felt for days. Then she'd smacked his head into the wall and it had quickly gone away. He wondered if it was because of last night and the things they had talked about. Forethought and responsibility and I want you too.

"Probably still in Austria," she replied, wincing slightly as she spoke. Ron could see she hardly looked comfortable in her current position jammed into the corner.

"Here." He moved his arm behind her head so it could provide a bit of cushioning and turned on his side to face her. "Better?"

"A bit, yes." She smiled at the effort and moved around so she rested on her side as well. Their bodies were parallel to each other now, their faces mere inches apart.

"Never been to Austria," Ron remarked dumbly. "Have you?"

"No."

"Never ridden in one of these either."

"There's not too much room, is there?" she laughed, looking down to the bottom of the mattress where his legs were jammed into the tiny bunk.

"Like I said, I don't think they make these for anybody over six foot." He looked down to the end of the bed as well, suddenly embarrassed by the rather large hole in the toe of one of his socks and the heel of the other.

She stretched her green stockinged foot out toward his then, rubbing it against him like she'd done last night beneath the table. An involuntary shiver ran through his body and he closed his eyes, wondering if he'd ever be able to express what such a small action could to do him. She had to know already.

"They're certainly not made for two," she laughed. Ron wondered whether the comment meant she had hoped to pass the night there with him or whether it was simply a remark about how small the bunk was. She had a shy, but slightly mischievous grin on her face as she worked her toe beneath the hem of his trousers and pulling it up revealing his hairy leg.

"Do you think they make larger ones?"

"Larger beds? Yes, of course!" Hermione laughed.

"I know they make larger beds!" Ron scowled, feeling much the same way he did at school when she told him something obvious he already knew. Of course, he knew they made larger beds. He was rather hoping the one in Australia was at least three times the size of this one. "I mean larger sleeping compartments."

"I don't know. I know they make some where you have to share with loads of people though."

"Share a bed with strangers?"

"No, you twit, share a room," Hermione laughed. Her foot had now worked its way so their legs were completely tangled. "There's lots of bunk beds in one room and you have to share."

"Well, that's not too bad," Ron shrugged.

"My cousin told me when she took one this German man in the bunk above her talked to himself the entire night."

"You've got a cousin?" Ron ignored the rest of her story and seized instead upon the small detail she'd revealed. Yet another thing he didn't know about her that he felt like he should.

"I've got six cousins," she spoke matter-of-factly, but there was an obvious sadness in her voice as she spoke. He wanted to ask what contingency she'd put into place to deal with her extended family, all her cousins and her aunts and uncles, when she'd sent her parents away, but he remained silent. Her foot was still caressing his lower leg and their faces were so close all it would take was a slight move of his head and he would be kissing her. If he mentioned her family then that would all change.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't get us one where we have to share with other people," he murmured then, nuzzling her neck.

"Oh, and why is that?" she replied in a tone he could only interpret as flirtatious. He still had yet to get accustomed to the sound of Hermione flirting with him.

"Because if we'd had to share I wouldn't be able to do this." He grinned and finally pressed his lips to her neck. It was another lame thing to say just like the bit with the wine, but suddenly lame things were all he seemed capable of saying.

"I think you'd do this even if we had to share," she laughed while he continued to place wet kisses along her jawline.

"You're probably right," he murmured against her skin. He hadn't shaved since the funeral and the stubble on his chin must have tickled because she giggled, her hands now at the back of his head, running through his hair gently. "Would you stop me if I did?" He lifted his head up momentarily and looked to her curiously.

"Probably not." She gave him a pleased smile and her voice was light and fluttery as she spoke. He was kissing her lower on her neck now, his long nose nuzzling against her and nudging the collar of her shirt. He felt her hand slide behind his head then and forcefully seize a fistful of his hair. He thought she was simply running her hands through it again, but then he realised she was pulling his lips off her neck. She was bringing them to hers.

She was showing him what she wanted.

His heart hammered in his chest and he felt his blood start to flow in a decidedly southward direction. It wasn't as frenetic as the way she'd grabbed him before she crashed his head into the wall. This was slow, methodical even, like she was learning how to do it all over again. This wasn't due to nervousness though, but simply because she wanted to savour it. This was what he had wanted. This was what he had craved since that first kiss back at the Burrow. They were alone. They had nowhere to be right now but here in this cramped compartment. His mum would not be calling them down to dinner, Harry would not be knocking at the door. It was just them. They weren't even there yet, but this was already Australia. This was what he'd thought about and longed for the past eight days. The past eight days had been all about getting used to each other. They'd settled into a comfortable rhythm that Ron had tried to break out of last night, but then his own grief had ruined it. The tear stains on his face had put a damper on his attempt to move past simple snogging. But not tonight. Tonight they were alone in a sleeping car somewhere across Europe and there had been no tears, only a bottle of sweet red Burgundy wine to help move them along.

And for the first time all day, Ron wasn't thinking about who might be after them. He wasn't thinking about how he should be thinking about his dead brother. He was thinking about Hermione and how her entire mouth, down to the ridges of her gums, tasted like red wine and how he now had a whole new appreciation for the drink. He was thinking about the way she was pressed against the blue fabric walls of the compartment, the way his thigh was nestled between her legs and how she seemed to enjoy the closeness, almost crave it. Her body was moving slowly against him in the same rhythm as her mouth and Ron pressed even closer to her so there was practically no space between them. They began rocking, sliding together on the tiny mattress, hip to hip and mouth to mouth. Every time his mouth strayed from hers to suck softly at the delicate skin below her ear or drop wet kisses all along her throat she'd seize his hair and bring his mouth back up to hers. She simply didn't want him to stop kissing her. It was an exhilarating thought, that she didn't want his mouth to ever leave hers. He wondered if she wanted to do this for the entire eleven hour train ride.

Now her leg was hooking around his body, moving around the leg he had nestled against her bits. He felt her weight shift onto him then and he dropped onto his back. The rest of her body followed. She was getting on top of him.

Here came the Wrackspurts.

"Oh, fuck," Ron groaned as he felt her settle over him, his pants suddenly feeling incredibly tight.

"What?" She asked from her position atop him. Ron was grateful she hadn't seemed to hear the utterance.

"Nothing," he dismissed, trying hard to look her in the eye and not stare down her shirt. She was offering him the perfect view. Ron wondered if it was intentional. She'd had the top button of her blouse undone all day, but another seemed to have popped open in the last hour. Either that or she'd unfastened it when he hadn't been looking. Either way, he could see clearly down her shirt in her current position. He could see the swells of her breast, the valley between them, even the color of her bra.

His view was abruptly cut off then because she started kissing him again, in that slow tender, perfect way. The movements of her mouth were almost lazy. He wondered if it was the wine or if it was the knowledge that they had eleven more hours in the sleeper car and didn't need to rush anything. Her shirt had ridden up slightly and there was an expanse of exposed skin between the top of her jeans and the bottom of her shirt. He sunk his fingertips greedily into the flesh on her hipbones and his smile only broadened when she didn't withdraw. This was like last night in her bedroom, except his nose wasn't runny and his face wasn't wet with tears. This was like last night except it was Hermione who was atop him, Hermione who had initiated things, Hermione who wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He felt a sharp intake of air against him as his hands slid beneath her shirt, but he didn't bother asking if it was okay. Those days were behind them. He knew how to read the reactions of her body. When her skin broke into gooseflesh or she took in a sharp breath, he knew it was a good thing. He knew she could read the reactions of his body quite easily too and he was thrilled to see her respond to the hardness he knew she could feel.

I want you too. He heard her honest words from last night again in his head. Not when you're hiding and not when you're upset. He reckoned they were both hiding now. Hiding from what might be after them, hiding from the rest of the world. This tiny compartment seemed like it was made for hiding though and this felt good. It felt right.

He pulled his hands out from beneath her shirt then, withdrawing so abruptly she pulled her lips off his and frowned. Ron laughed softly at how put out she looked, her bottom lip sticking out like that of a petulant child's. But then his fingers started working the buttons of her blouse. She looked down, watching him with her eyes a bit wide as he worked to remove her shirt. For a brief moment, he thought she might swat his hands away or scold him.

Instead, she just watched his long fingers work deftly over each button, dimples forming on her cheeks, which he noticed were a bit pink, as she smiled at him. She didn't look shy or embarrassed. The smile on her face was more like the look she'd given the first time she'd intentionally broken a school rule, the smile when they were planning D.A meetings right under Umbridge's nose. He imagined his cheeks were probably the same color too, but wasn't sure whether it was because of how hot and stuffy the compartment was or because of what they were doing.

They just stared at each other for a moment after he unfastened the final button. Her blouse hung open like a curtain Ron was suddenly nervous to part. He'd touched her before, up in his bedroom five days ago and then again yesterday. That had been over her shirt though and his mum had been right downstairs and he'd known things couldn't go much further than touching. He could make a right mess of things here, especially after their conversation last night about forethought and responsibility. If he parted her shirt and did what he wanted, he was quite confident he'd end up with a pillow in his lap again or worse.

Hermione propped herself up on her hands, leaning over him so the curls of her hair hung down and brushed his face. She gave a tentative smile. It was a strange sort of moment, the kind he never could have imagined twelve months ago. This whole situation was just surreal, he and Hermione travelling alone across Europe, the way she had been moving against him, the fact that he'd just unbuttoned her shirt, the fact that she was still smiling at him and it seemed like she actually wanted him to touch her.

Tentatively, he slid his hands to her ribcage so he parted the curtain hiding her breasts from view. For some reason, he thought of how embarrassed she'd been only a few days ago when her bra and knickers had fallen all over the floor when they were unpacking. He studied the plain white bra, wondering if she had wanted this to happen this morning when she'd gotten dressed and if she'd chosen her undergarments knowing he would see them.

He could see the pale tops of her breasts as they hung down in their white satin cups and his lips found hers in the same moment his hand moved over the fabric to touch her. Boldly, he stretched out his hand so his fingertips reached over the cup. She felt perfect beneath his hand and he desperately wanted to feel more, to feel her. He wondered what she'd do if he just pushed it aside and slipped his fingers beneath. This was Hermione, after all, careful Hermione who always had a plan, Hermione who was always deliberate and thorough and slow, Hermione who to his knowledge had never really been with a bloke like this before. Today he'd seen a different Hermione though, a reckless Hermione who didn't think things through, who didn't care about making sense and who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying how it felt to move against him the way she was. He'd always thought Hermione was pretty enough, she'd suddenly become beautiful through his eyes the last few years, but this was the first time he'd ever really thought of her as being fucking sexy as all hell.

When he kissed her again she started moving against him. He wondered if she was even aware of the way her hips were moving. It was the same way she'd been moving against his thigh when she'd been pinned to the wall before, the same way they'd moved together up in her bedroom before she'd forced him off of her, the same way they'd moved up in his bedroom when she'd insisted they take a break and talk about Quidditch. Feeling her now, Hermione Granger, moving like this against him made him want to forget whatever she'd said about forethought and responsibility. He wanted, right now, nothing more than to tear off the layers and see what it would feel like to have her move like this when he was actually inside her. It was the first time he'd really thought about it, not just as a fantasy when he was having a wank in the shower, but as something that could really happen between them. He and Hermione could have sex right here in this train car.

His thumb grazed beneath the inner edge of the bra cup, getting a brief feel of the smooth skin that lay beneath. He heard a sound low in her throat at the action that instinctively caused his fingers to tighten and squeeze. They could have sex in this compartment. She was grinding against his cock and he had his hands on her tits. They had ten and a half hours alone in here and things certainly seemed to be moving in that direction.

Her mouth was moving more urgently now, losing the slow and lazy feel from earlier. Their breathing was becoming more ragged and desperate. Ron raised his knee and attempted to nudge her legs further apart so she could get more comfortable against him. They didn't talk. There were no words exchanged, just gasps, grunts and nearly inaudible moans that sounded over the loud clatter of the train beneath them. She let out a breathy cry as her hips now pressed against him, sliding over the bulge that had made her so nervous last night in a rhythm that almost seemed beyond her control. He pulled his lips off hers and opened his eyes to look up at her then, to assure himself this was really Hermione and he hadn't simply fallen asleep and let his fantasies get carried away.

He was harder than he could ever remember and all he could think about was what could happen if he just shed a few more layers. Wanting more, he slid his hands around her ribcage to her back, reveling in the feel of so much bare skin. He could feel the arch of her shoulder blades, the dip in the small of her back, the tiny mole on her shoulder. His long hands wrapped around her and he gripped her to him tightly, trying to come to terms with the fact that two straps and a small clasp were all that really kept her hidden from him.

He knew how to do this. He'd been flummoxed the first time he'd blindly tried to take off Lavender's bra, but he'd gotten quite good at it in the months they'd dated. He could even do it with one hand. Ron's hand rested over the hook and eye fastening and he felt Hermione's breath quicken against him, but she said nothing so his hands quickly began working just like when he'd unbuttoned her blouse. He was taking off Hermione Granger's bra. She hesitated and for a moment Ron thought she was going to take it off for him. Instead, he felt her pull away from him quite suddenly.

"No!" He heard the frustrated words sound in his own head, and didn't realise until he saw Hermione's horrified face as she climbed off him that he'd actually said them out loud. His face grew hot. How daft was he to shout that out loud.

She looked a bit rattled at the way he'd yelled, pulling her legs up beneath her and her open blouse across her body modestly. Ron raised himself to a sitting position, finding it difficult to disguise his disappointment that she was covering herself up.

"Sorry," he apologised for his outcry, "I just - I mean – what's wrong – why'd you – was that not good?" he stammered, quite sure she'd been enjoying everything up until the moment he'd tried to take off her bra. "Hermione?"

"It was good." Her reply was quiet and she was tucking her hair behind her ears nervously.

"Sorry, I yelled. I didn't even - I'm not like angry – or anything," he stammered uncomfortably. "I just…" He shifted on the bed, hoping she couldn't see his erection, knowing that would only make this worse. "It was good and you were, y'know, kissing me so it seemed like you were…erm – enjoying it, y'know?"

"I was," she admitted quietly.

"Then what's…why'd you…" he struggled with how to ask why she hadn't let him take her bra off without sounding like a randy perv.

"Did you and Lavender…" At the mention of his ex, Ron felt a sudden heavy feeling in his gut. "Did you ever…you know…"

"What?"

"You know." Hermione looked thoroughly embarrassed as she said the words and she wouldn't lift her eyes to him. Ron had an idea what she was referring to, but there was a lot he could file under the heading of 'you know'. They'd just 'you knowed' right here on the cot, but at the same time they hadn't even come close to 'you knowing'.

"What?"

"Did you have…sex?" she squeaked, barely able to get the words out.

"No!" His horrified reply was immediate.

"You were with her for four months, Ron." Hermione looked to him accusingly. "I'm not stupid."

"And I wouldn't lie to you!" he affirmed, slightly put off by the implication. "I mean we did…stuff, yeah, but-"

"What kind of stuff?" Ron couldn't help but notice she began buttoning her blouse back up when she asked the words. He felt his arousal fade.

"Just….stuff." He scratched his head uncomfortably, quite confident this was a question he shouldn't answer.

"What did she let you do?" Hermione pressed inquisitively.

"I don't know." He tried to deflect the inquiry.

"Yes, you do!" Hermione laughed. Ron couldn't help but think she sounded oddly desperate to know.

"I don't want to talk about this with you," he protested weakly. The thought of talking about what he'd done with his ex-girlfriend with Hermione after what they'd just been doing seemed wrong somehow.

"Why not?"

"Because it's weird!"

"So you did do more than just kiss her?"

"Yeah, I mean no, I mean - not much," he stammered sheepishly after a long pause.

"But you did do more?"

"I don't know, I guess, yeah."

"McLaggen snogged me in the coatroom at Slughorn's party," she confessed suddenly, seeming to sense that this would be an eye for an eye scenario. "He grabbed my bum twice and tried to put his hand down my dress." Ron felt a familiar jealousy flare up inside him at the revelation that McLaggen had been so forward with her. "I almost let him." He stared at her long and hard, quite sure she was telling him the truth, but thoroughly surprised at her last confession.

"We did…stuff," Ron admitted, sticking to the same vague term to describe what activities he and Lavender had engaged in, feeling suddenly guilty when compared to the relatively innocent interactions Hermione had just described with McLaggen.

"Yes, but like what?" she pressed.

"Why does it matter?"

"Why won't you tell me?" Ron could hear her getting upset. He was beginning to think this was an argument he'd lose no matter what.

"Because I don't think it matters!" he continued their circular argument.

"I'm your girlfriend, I want to know." She finished buttoning herself up and her voice began to take on that familiar bossy tone he'd grown up hearing. He couldn't win here. She'd get this out of him and he'd end up being the effing creep that had nearly shagged Lavender Brown in an empty classroom after Quidditch practice.

"Why?" he growled. "I didn't care about her at all. Fuck, Hermione half the time it was your tits I was thinking about!"

"Half the time you were doing what?" she asked quietly, not even commenting on his crass comment or vulgar language. She was not looking at him anymore. Her eyes were peering over the side of the mattress where she'd kicked off her shoes and the nearly empty bottle of wine was still resting on the floor. Her arms were crossed over her body and he could see her nostrils flaring slightly.

"I didn't have sex with her," Ron affirmed, lowering his voice and trying to calm down

"You came close though," she said the words in a knowing way that told him she already knew the answer. "Has she seen you without your pants?" Ron didn't respond, but his silence seemed to be confirmation enough for Hermione. He couldn't help but think her eyes looked a bit moist as she blinked three times in rapid succession. He wasn't sure why the news was so upsetting to her, but he couldn't help but be struck by the feeling she was about to burst into tears.

"It's not that exciting really, me without pants," Ron tried dumbly for some humour. "Bit scary really." Hermione didn't smile though and Ron couldn't help but think she looked a bit like he had after Ginny told him about Krum. She didn't look angry or particularly jealous. She looked sad, like she'd been deprived of something she'd thought ought to be hers.

"Do you want me to do…stuff?" Hermione finally peered up at him and asked meekly what Ron wagered was the real reason for the entire interrogation about his activity with Lavender. He worried for a moment if this was another one of those times in a relationship he wasn't supposed to tell the truth either, but he couldn't make himself lie to Hermione.

"Yeah." He gave an honest shrug. "I mean, of course, but…"

"But?"

"But I mean only if you want to." He scratched his head uncomfortably.

There was silence for a moment and Ron couldn't tell if it was the comfortable or uncomfortable type. Had he screwed up by telling her he wanted to do stuff with her? She had to know already. What exactly was he supposed to do now? Would it be wrong to kiss her now after the conversation that had just taken place? Why was she smiling? Had he said the right thing this time? Somehow he felt like he'd said all the wrong things. Buggering fuck, you weren't supposed to talk about what your ex-girlfriend did with your current girlfriend. You weren't supposed to tell them you wanted to do the same kind of things with them.

It wouldn't be the same with Hermione though. With Lavender it might as well have been any girl tugging on his cock or letting him have a feel. He was quite sure he'd even groaned Hermione's name on more than one occasion when they'd been together.

"It's hard to believe it's only been eight days, isn't it?" she asked quietly then. The muscles in Ron's face tightened and Hermione quickly seemed to realize what else could be measured eight days ago. "I just mean since we…you know…"

"I know what you meant," he mumbled, finding it hard to grasp that over a week had passed since literally everything happened.

"I do want to do…stuff, y'know," she informed quietly then. "It's just that - I've just barely gotten used to snogging you. I'm still not convinced I'm not complete rubbish at it."

"Believe me, you're not rubbish," Ron laughed.

"You're just randy." She gave a tight-lipped smile.

"You're not rubbish," he stated firmly and his eyes held hers for a moment before she looked away.

"I'm sorry."

"About what?" Ron laughed, glad their earlier argument seemed to have faded away.

"About making you…you know, like last night in my room – when you were…" She flushed considerably at the words and her eyes darted to his crotch briefly. The quick realization of where her eyes were resting combined with her nervousness indicated exactly what she was referring to. She was talking about his erection.

"You don't have to apologise! That's not your fault," Ron laughed. He wondered how she'd react if he told her that was hardly a new problem and that she'd been doing that to him since she'd turned thirteen and sprouted breasts.

"Yes, it is." She looked thoroughly unconvinced and gave him a dubious glare.

"It's not," he replied immediately with a laugh. "Well, I mean…it's because of you, yeah," he admitted, "but you say it like it's a bad thing."

"Well, I feel badly that I…I get you - " She tried to look away from his crotch, but failed miserably. Ron wanted to laugh at her discomfort. "You know, excited."

"Why does that make you feel badly?" he chuckled again. She didn't seem to appreciate his laughter.

"I – I just thought I read that - " she stammered

"You read?" Ron looked to her incredulously. "You read a book about - "

"No, I said I thought I heard," she quickly corrected.

"No, you said read!" he insisted

"Heard."

"Read."

"Heard!" She looked thoroughly mortified as she uttered her final rebuttal. Ron relented, content with the knowledge that he had heard her correctly. Hermione had read some kind of book on male arousal. "Anyway, I heard that if you don't…you know, finish, it's a bit…well painful."

"Nah, it feels good mostly." Ron shrugged dismissively. "Most blokes that say it hurts are just trying to get…well, you know."

"So it doesn't hurt you?"

"It's not that bad. Just goes away after a while," he managed a laugh and waved dismissively at his crotch. "I can take care of it on my own if it doesn't."

"I feel bad that I get you...excited and then we don't actually...do anything." Hermione looked guilty.

"Hermione, you could be dressed like Neville's grandmother and covered in stinksap and I'd still…be excited," he laughed at his use of her rather innocent euphemism, gazing at her from across the bed. She blushed furiously and looked away from his increasingly ardent gaze.

"I reckon we should try to get some sleep," she spoke suddenly, but her eyes were still staring at his crotch.

"Yeah, long day tomorrow, right?" He tried to hide his disappointment as he looked at his wristwatch. Aside from the uncomfortable conversation about Lavender, he found he quite liked talking about this with her. This was two nights in a row they had. He didn't think he'd ever enjoyed talking about something so much. These conversations meant she thought about it all, too. He didn't feel like such a randy effing creep anymore.

He picked up the flimsy excuse for a pillow the train provided, grumbling about how uncomfortable it looked.

"You know you can make it bigger?" she laughed.

"No, I missed the pillow charm in Flitwick's class," Ron replied caustically and handed her the pillow. He felt silly as she did a simple engorgio charm and handed it back to him.

"Right." He took the fluffed up pillow and placed it at top of the cot where she'd accidentally knocked his head into the wall. If he didn't taken into account his drunken night on the couch, this would be the first night they would spend together since he'd slept by her bedside at Bill and Fleur's and he was unsure what the actual arrangements would be. He desperately wanted her to remain on the bottom bunk with him, but he wasn't about to suggest it and look like a complete prat. After their conversation and what had transpired on her bed yesterday, asking her to spend the night with him seemed a bit presumptuous. Realistically, he didn't even think the two of them could fit comfortably in the tiny space in any position other than the one they'd just been in and he doubted she would choose to pass the night like that. "So do you want to be on top?" he asked and as soon as he saw her mortified expression he quickly clarified. "Sleep on top – the bunk, I mean." He reckoned he should probably be a gentleman and take the top bunk, but he liked the idea of being closer to the door should anyone enter. The top bunk somehow seemed safer.

"If I can get up there." Hermione frowned and looked up at the tall bunk. "I don't see a ladder."

"I can help you up," Ron offered with a shrug. "D-do you want to – erm - change into your pajamas?" he stammered nervously then and looked to the door. "I can leave."

"I – I can change when I'm…up top," she faltered, indicating she had no idea how to navigate this situation any more than he did.

"Okay," he mumbled, his mind wandering at the mere thought of her changing. They both got to their feet then and looked at the bunk, which was only slightly taller than Ron. He held out his hand to help give her a leg up, but even with his assistance her climb onto the bunk was anything but graceful.

Hermione's lack of athleticism was something that Ron had always found endearing. He'd tried to teach her how to skip stones and throw a Quaffle countless times over the years, but she was no Cho Chang. She managed to throw one leg over, but clambered unsuccessfully to swing the other one over. Tentatively, he raised his hands up to push her over the side. He didn't mean to grab at her the way he did, but he know she could feel his fingers pressing into her, gripping her bum as he helped her into the bunk. He hoped she didn't think he was just trying to grab her arse.

He handed her the beaded bag and tried to ignore the sound of buttons unfastening and jeans sliding down her legs. Folding his arms behind his head, he tried hard not to picture her changing in his head above him. Funny, how different things were now. This should feel familiar. Sure, it had usually been on the other side of a tent flap, but she had changed before him countless times over the past year. Then, they had so much else to worry about. He had been able to temporarily push aside the lingering thoughts that accompanied the sound of her bra being unhooked and pulled over her shoulders. Ron closed his eyes and let out a breath through his nose that was probably much too loud.

"Ron?" Hermione's voice sounded from above him. "Do you want your pyjamas as well?"

"Erm, no, I'm all right."

"Don't be silly," she dismissed with a laugh, "I'm sure I can find them in here."

"I'm fine, I just – I'll sleep in my shorts."

"Just your shorts?" Her interest sounded piqued. "Nothing else?"

"Um, a shirt – I'll - I'll wear a shirt." He stammered again, unsure why he was suddenly so nervous.

"Do you usually just sleep in your shorts?" Ron couldn't help but think she sounded the slightest bit intrigued.

"Um…sometimes." He was grateful she couldn't see how red his face was. "When it's hot out."

"It is a bit warm in here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's 'cause there's no sodding windows," he grumbled, looking around the tiny compartment. "How do I get the lights out again?" He cursed himself for leaving the deluminator in his jeans pocket.

"That switch by the door." He could hear Hermione giggle at his lack of knowledge about Muggle things. She'd tried to give him a brief lesson about electronics at her house in Henley yesterday, but he'd gotten confused when she began talking about atoms and invisible force fields.

"Right. Eleck-trick -city." He wondered if she could tell that he was smiling.

"Electricity," she corrected for the umpteenth time, "and you'd better get used to it."

"Tell me how it works again?" he asked as he lowered the switch and the lights immediately went out. He was eager for something to talk about that could get his mind off Hermione in the bunk above and make his erection go down.

"You really want to know?" she called out from the darkness above him, sounding equally amused. "Last time I tried to explain it you kept interrupting and saying it sounded like magic."

"It does sound like magic."

"It's not magic. It's science."

"Can it be both?"

"I suppose," he shrugged then settled into the bed cozily, "so how does it work?"

"Well, you know how sometimes when you rub two things together they stick together? Like when a balloon sticks to your head? That's electricity. It's a force that makes your hair stand up when you do that."

"So how does that turn on the lights?"

"It creates a current."

"Like a current of water?"

"No, an invisible current. There's this invisible charge between them. Charges that are the same repel each other and charges that are opposite attract."

"So…" He looked up at the faint outline of the bottom of her bunk above him, wondering if it was the darkness and the fact that he couldn't see her that made him say what he was about to say or maybe just the wine. "So then…we're like electricity?"

"Pardon?" she laughed.

"You know, one thing…attracted to another, an invisible charge. Opposites that attract," he murmured thoughtfully, "we're electricity."

"I suppose we are," she replied softly. For nearly a minute they sat there in the dark. Ron licked his lips uncertainly, wondering if he should say more.

"We can't turn off the lights though," he attempted a joke to break the silence.

"But we might be able to turn them on," she added. Ron's laugh came out more like a sputter. He was so surprised to hear such a suggestive comment come from Hermione. Perhaps the darkness emboldened her too. "Electricity," she repeated and laughed to herself. "We're not that opposite, are we?"

"Like chalk and cheese!" Ron laughed. "You're not exactly a Quidditch fan."

"I still enjoy watching a match though," she replied defensively, "and I said I'd root for the Cannons." Ron was reminded of the Chudley hat he'd given her that she'd packed away yesterday.

"You know what I mean."

"I suppose you don't really take your studies too seriously."

"And you aren't nearly as found of sweets as I am."

"That's only because my parents don't like me to eat them," she corrected. "I think we're more alike than you realize." Ron couldn't help but think she seemed somehow uneasy at the thought they were complete opposites. Ron didn't mind. He wouldn't like it if Hermione was exactly like him. It would be boring if she liked everything he liked. That would be like dating Harry. He liked the fact that she challenged him and made him learn new things and do things differently.

"Electricity," Hermione repeated the word to herself. Ron could just picture her smiling above him.

He grinned up at her in the darkness, pleased with himself that he could make her smile after such a long day. Maybe he didn't dislike the tiny compartment so much after all.

"Hermione?" he inquired then.

"Yes?"

"Did you want to go to Milan?"

"What?"

"Earlier today, in the train station, you looked - well, you looked as if you wanted to go to Milan." He recalled how her face had fallen when the young ticket agent had told them how much quicker the train to Zurich was. He could tell by her silence that she was surprised by the query.

"Oh, that. It's nothing, really." Her attempt to dismiss the matter fell on deaf ears.

"What?"

"I've just never been to Italy," she admitted quietly. "I know it's silly and it's not the reason we're on the train in the first place and we wouldn't even have gotten to see anything." She strung her words together rather quickly, like Ron knew she did when she was embarrassed. "I just…I've never been to Italy."

"We'll go," he replied immediately without even thinking.

"What?" she laughed.

"Not now, but…sometime," he mumbled, trying to act casual, like he invited her on holiday in Italy all the time. "We'll go to Italy."

She said nothing, but he heard her give a pleased sigh and turn over in her bed. It was a pleasant thing to imagine. Maybe they'd travel by rail again in a slightly larger sleeping car so they could share the bed. They'd stop at all the cities they passed through. He'd buy her things. They wouldn't have to worry if there were people after them.

He could hear the tracks rattling beneath them and every now and then the train would lurch slightly. He wondered if she was listening to the tracks as well and if she was listening to him shift in his bed and thinking about him beneath her the same way he was thinking about her above him.

Then without a word, as if to answer him, her hand dropped down from the top bunk.

She dangled it loosely over the side, but he knew she was reaching for him and his hand immediately flew up to hers. Her fingers closed around his instinctively and he thought back to that night in Grimmauld Place when he'd first taken her hand and how wonderful it had first felt. He knew he couldn't hold it forever tonight, but he would as long as he could.

"Goodnight, Ron."

"Goodnight, Hermione."


	24. Chapter 24

The nightmare had been the worst one yet. He awoke drenched in sweat and gasping for air in the stuffy compartment, his wand instinctively clutched in his hand as he sprang up from the pillow. The unfamiliar bed and dark compartment took a moment to register in his brain and he had to remind himself where he was and the steps he'd taken to get here. Running his hands through his damp hair, he tried to steady his breathing. It was a dream. Hermione was lying just above him, he had his wand and he'd put a myriad of protections up on the door so nobody unwelcome could enter. It was just a dream. He repeated the mantra over and over, trying to recall the details of the stupid dream so he could laugh at himself for being ridiculous.

There had been a dragon in it, not the old Ukrainian Ironbelly from Gringott's either, but a Hebridean Black like the one Charlie had been telling him about on the way into town. There had been Death Eaters too. Not normal looking Death Eaters either, but dead Death Eaters come back to life in horribly grotesque form. Fenrir Greyback with his smashed-in head and an eye dripping from its socket, Bellatrix Lestrange with a gaping hole in her throat. There had been bodies all around too, pale stiff heavy bodies that he'd tripped over in the dark as he pursued the grotesque Death Eaters. Harry had been one and his sister too. He wondered whether Hermione had been a body. She'd been with him in the dream at one point, he could remember that, she'd been running alongside him, firing spells and chasing the Death Eaters too, but then he was alone. He also remembered screaming. The same kind of screaming he'd heard only once in his life from inside a cold dank cellar. The dream was fading from memory the more he tried to weave it into a coherent narrative. He'd killed people, he knew that had been a part of it, but he couldn't remember who or how he'd done it. He wondered if those frightful Death Eaters looked like that because of him. He tried to remember how Hermione disappeared and why his brother hadn't been in the dream. The more he tried to piece together the dream, the more difficult it became to recall anything about it except that it had been horrible. It had been all death and gore and panic and fear.

He wondered when would he stop feeling like this. The first few hours in the compartment had been wonderful. They'd joked and laughed and tried to throw crisps in each other's mouths and he had to pinch himself that he could possibly have someone so perfect be his best friend, to be his girlfriend. Then they'd studied the rail map of Europe and she'd given him a geography lesson, they'd had a wonderful snog, an only slightly uncomfortable conversation about his ex, she'd taught him about electricity and she'd fallen asleep with her hand in his. But then he closed his eyes and the pain of the past year became impossible to ignore.

Quietly, Ron got up from the bed to peer up at the top bunk and make sure Hermione was still there and still asleep. There had been a few incomprehensible murmurs and moans from her bunk earlier in the night, but he hadn't heard much since. He hoped his stupid nightmare hadn't woken her up and was pleased to see she seemed to still be sleeping silently. The longer he sat there in the dark of the tiny compartment, not knowing where they were or even what day it was, the more he wished she'd wake up though.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of where they stood after last night. It had been sort of amazing. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what they'd done and how quickly things had progressed. He had no doubt that if she hadn't pulled away and asked about Lavender, things would have continued and there would have more buttons unfastened and more clothes removed. But she had stopped him and asked all kinds of questions that Ron hadn't really wanted to answer. He wondered if he should have explained himself. He'd been so vague about Lavender Hermione might think more happened than actually had. After all, it had only been once she'd seen him without pants and that had been quite by accident. Perhaps he should clarify and explain the details. She had been relatively calm about it and they'd seemed okay after. Hermione had, much to his surprise, not fallen to pieces, and her biggest concern had seemed to be leaving him with a stiffy. Maybe coming clean instead of being evasive would be better. Maybe she would be fine with it. He stared up at the bottom of the bunk in the darkness, listening to the train rumble on beneath them.

He didn't know how many hours passed before her legs finally appeared over the edge of the bunk. Ron felt himself cheer up considerably as he saw her legs kick and flail about in the darkness, trying to make contact with his bed. He had difficulty suppressing a grin at the attempt, which was as un-athletic as the manner she'd clambered into the bunk. Finally, her toes reached the edge of his bed and she lowered the rest of her body down. For the briefest of moments, Ron thought perhaps she was about to climb into bed with him and his heart began to race, but she just slipped her shoes on and crept quietly past the bed toward the door.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?" He wasn't entirely sure why he was whispering when she was already awake.

"I have to use the loo." For some reason she was whispering back. Maybe it was the darkness.

"Wait, I'll come with you." He reached blindly about the floor to grab his trainers.

"You don't have to - "

"You can't go wandering around the train in the middle of the night in your pyjamas," he reasoned.

"I'll be all right," she dismissed again.

"No, I'll go with you, just wait a moment." He grabbed his wand from underneath his pillow and cast a Lumos charm to fill the compartment with a bit of light.

"Ron, you don't have to - "

"But - "

"I can go to the loo on my own!" She sounded more than a bit exasperated and had the same look on her face as when he'd insisted that he answer the door. "You don't have to - "

"Yes, I do," he cut her off. "I do."

At the simple words, she relented and plopped down beside him on the bottom bunk. He had one trainer on and was sitting up in the bed in nothing but his shorts and an old t-shirt and his hair was probably sticking up at all kinds of embarrassing angles. She, on the other hand, looked somehow perfect in her matching blue pyjamas.

"Do you really think there are people following us?" she asked suddenly, settling onto the bed beside him. Ron quickly bunched the sheets around his lap, surprised at how oblivious she seemed to the fact that he was wearing so little and that having her this close might do things to him.

"Maybe." He could tell by Hermione's disappointed face that his reply was not the definitive one she had been hoping for. He had been convinced they were being followed at first. Someone at the Ministry had set them up and then there was that man in the polo-neck who had seemed to follow them to the restaurant. Now they were on a train travelling through foreign countries and he wasn't sure if there were still people after him, but he wanted to take the precaution. Their Portkey had been wrong. That much was apparent. He wasn't about to let her walk around the train without him.

"Were you able to sleep at all?" she asked softly then, changing the conversation quite suddenly as she looked around the messy bedsheets.

"Off and on," he shrugged. "Not much room down here and the train's so bloody loud. What about you?"

"Off and on," she echoed his words and rested her head against his shoulder then. He couldn't tell if she was lying or not, whether she'd heard him tossing, turning, and most likely shouting in his sleep. She probably had. Lying about whether he had was stupid. So all of a sudden he blurted it out.

"I've been having dreams." He thought of Harry and how adamant his best friend had been that he talk to Hermione.

"I know."

"Of course you do." Her soft knowing reply made him smile.

"What are they about?"

"I don't know," Ron sighed loudly.

"You were shouting," she informed him quietly then. He knew she was well aware after the last year that yelling in his sleep was not an ordinary occurrence.

"What did I say?" he asked curiously.

"You were just shouting." She shrugged. "What are they about?"

"It's just Vol - "

"Don't say Voldemort stuff." She suddenly sounded much more annoyed than he would have expected and her eyes blazed as she looked at him. "Your parents might fall for that, but don't you dare lie to me." Silence quickly filled the space between them as Ron looked down guiltily. He remembered his mum's words before they'd left. She'd taken care of him for the last week. He wasn't supposed to still feel like this. What had happened in her bedroom, the tears he'd shed that had stained her shirt, that was supposed to be the end of it. Now he was supposed to take care of her. He wasn't supposed to be the tit still having nightmares and crying out in his sleep. "What were you dreaming about?" she pressed.

"I don't know."

"Ron - " she began to protest.

"I really don't."

"You don't remember them?"

"I do right when I wake up," he sighed. "Past that, I just know…he's gone. I just wake up and I know he's gone, you're gone, everyone's gone and…I let it happen." Ron couldn't help but think of the hallway and the explosion and the events he'd replayed countless times in his head.

"You didn't let it happen," Hermione assured.

"Right." He let out a loud shaky breath that indicated how little he believed her. Rather than offer any protest like he expected or comforting words, she just leaned further into his shoulder. He tilted his head so it rested against hers and for a long time they sat like that against each other, silently listening to the noisy train beneath them.

"Do you think we're still in Austria or have we got to Hungary yet?" He peered toward the door, wondering if it was still dark outside the train.

"I don't know." She shrugged and looked to the door as well. "Do you think I did the right thing Apparating us out of the alley?" she finally asked what he knew had weighed on them both since it happened.

"We're going to get to Australia," he stated positively the only words he knew she needed to hear. She exhaled against him and nuzzled closer at the words, even snaking an arm around him.

If Hermione asked in the morning, he'd tell her the loud clacking of the tracks beneath them had kept him awake. The truth was he just didn't want to have another nightmare with her there beside him. So he sat up for four more hours, closing his eyes off and on, but never really sleeping, even as she fell asleep against him. It was an odd thing to look at his wristwatch and know it was getting light outside, but to still have the compartment as dark as it had been at midnight. It was a strange thing to be so close to Hermione, but not really be able to see much beyond the outlines of her face. Still, this was the closeness he'd hoped for from the sleeping car. Even though he desperately wanted to lie down and stretch out on the tiny bed again, he remained upright and let her rest against him.

He recalled a late night in fifth year when she'd fallen asleep against him like this on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room. He could remember everything about the night. It had been early in the year and he was already falling behind in his coursework with the demands of Quidditch practice. Hermione had been helping him work on a Transfiguration essay that he and Harry had both neglected all week. Harry had gone to bed early, vowing to finish it in the morning, but Hermione insisted Ron stay awake and complete it tonight. He remembered she was working on a problem set for Arithmancy that was probably not due for another month, but she still checked in every few minutes with him to make sure he was still working and he was doing the essay correctly.

They stayed up late working, remaining long after everybody else had left the common room. Her eyes had closed and her body had somehow shifted so close to his that she fell asleep against his shoulder. The ink to complete the essay was just out of reach, but he didn't dare move because moving would wake her. So he just stayed there and let her sleep. He remembered looking down at her, just like he was right now, at the outline of her face in the dark and the shape of her lips, and he remembered it was that moment that he accepted the reality that he fancied his best friend. Things were different that year. It wasn't just being prefects or the fact that they'd spent all that time alone together at Grimmauld Place before Harry. It was the fact that part of him had never wanted Harry to come to Grimmauld Place and that he was starting to realize that while Harry was his best mate and always would be, there were times when he just wanted to be with Hermione. He had tried to ignore the oddly charged moments they'd had at Grimmauld Place. He tried to chalk up how often he caught himself staring at Hermione by reminding himself that he looked at just about anything with tits. Hermione was the only girl who made him feel things when he looked at her though. When he gazed at her he felt things beyond just a tightness in his pants. That moment she'd fallen asleep against him he'd accepted it, the fact that he liked her the way Harry liked Cho, and that to have her that close to him, sleeping against him had been a moment he never really wanted to end. His life felt kind of perfect in that moment. He had a new broomstick, he had made the Quidditch team and Hermione Granger had fallen asleep against him. The moment had ended of course. She'd eventually woken up and while he tried to offer her a smile when she did, all she'd done was fuss at him for letting her fall asleep and not finishing his assignment. They'd gone up the stairs to their respective dormitories and it was like it never happened. The perfect moment was gone.

He glanced down at her now, recalling that fifth year memory and all the fifth year memories where he'd been so uncertain how she felt toward him. He wondered what his fifth year self would say if he could see them now. She was resting against him in almost the exact same way, her head propped comfortably against his shoulder, but now her arm wrapped around his torso and her body was purposefully nestled close to his. Despite the nightmare that had woken him, and the people that might be after them, and the problems with the Portkey, and the fact that Hermione had gone round the twist a bit insisting on this whole train adventure, this moment was kind of perfect. Glancing down to the head of the bed and the oversized pillow she'd enlarged for him, which he was quite confident two heads could probably fit on it, he smiled with the reminder that this was not the only Euronight sleeping car of their trip. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of her breath going in and out against him, hoping tomorrow would feel kind of perfect too.

Ron had never stared at his watch more in his life. He thought counting down the hours on the train ride to Hungary was the worst, but after two uncomfortable hours in the crowded Budapest rail station, seven more hours on the train to Belgrade, over another hour in that rail station, and now eleven more painful hours from Belgrade to Sofia, he couldn't even decide which had been the worst. If he didn't look at his watch he lost track of time completely or even what day it was. Was it still Monday or was it already Tuesday? Minutes seemed to take hours and hours seemed to take days. The train from Budapest had been horrible. They hadn't had sleeper cars and instead had to sit for seven hours in uncomfortable chairs across from each other, surrounded by other travelers. They'd at least been able to look out the window at the passing countryside on that trip, but now they were back in a windowless sleeping car for eight and a half more hours.

"This has got to be the worst method of travel ever," Ron grumbled as they made their way into their fourth and final compartment of the trip. "I would have taken an aeroplane over this!"

"There wasn't an airport in Dijon," Hermione informed, "and it would have been much more expensive."

"Well, it's not like we exactly paid for this," he reminded and collapsed onto the mattress. Hermione gave him a disapproving look at the words as she sat down beside him. "How much money do we have left?"

"Just a couple of centimes and those won't get us anything. I don't think there's a dining car on this train anyway."

"Ham sandwiches it is then." He reached into Hermione's beaded bag and pulled out the sandwiches his mum had packed them. There weren't many left and he felt like they should save what they had. He unwrapped one and handed her half as they leaned back against the rattling wall. This sleeping compartment was much louder and bumpier than the one they'd traveled in to Budapest.

"Can you make one of your little flames?" He rummaged through the beaded bag for some kind of container she could transfigure into a jar and fill with blue light. "This light is too much." The white light was almost blinding considering how weary and exhausted he was.

"If you want." She yawned and Ron watched as she, almost lazily, turned an empty tin of biscuits into a glass, which she immediately filled with a tiny blue flame.

"I love these." Ron's smile turned into a yawn as he stretched his long arms up over his head and fell back onto the bed. Though it wasn't very late, their train in Belgrade having been delayed over an hour, he felt like he was in a constant state of exhaustion traveling like they were. She seemed sleepy too, but continued to sit upright in the bunk, folding her legs beneath her so he could stretch his legs out the full length of the bed. "Who needs electricity, right?" he grinned at Hermione as he reached up to switch off the obnoxious overhead light.

She grinned back at the reference to last night and uncurled her legs from beneath her then so she, in turn, could stretch them out across his thighs. They were now resting in an odd configuration, with a back to either wall and their outstretched legs perpendicular to each other. She took a not so dainty bite of his mum's ham sandwich and he laughed at the large bite, rather like one he'd take himself. She laughed back at him and raised her hand to stuff a dangling crust of bread back into her mouth.

If it was possible to get closer to her, he reckoned this rail trip had done it. They'd had to sit across from each other on the seven-hour trip from Budapest with nothing to do but talk. She'd brought a deck of Muggle playing cards to play on the small table between them, but he found Snap wasn't nearly as exciting when the cards didn't explode. So they'd talked and they'd walked and they'd talked some more and she'd read a book and he'd read a book and sometimes they just enjoyed comfortable silence. He let her stretch her legs out to rest in his lap while they both stared out at the Serbian countryside. They checked out the dining car and tried to peek into what the first class compartments looked like. They gazed out the window and planned return trips to Serbia and they took turns sleeping and shared their favourite rao; station so far and by the time they climbed onto train number four Ron had almost entirely forgotten about the fear and suspicion that had gripped him back in France. He almost forgot to put the charms on the door.

"Are they going to have to come in and check the passports when we get to Bulgaria?" he asked wearily, patting his pockets for the funny little red paper that was so important to Muggles.

"They'll probably just come through at the border crossing like when we came into Serbia," Hermione let out another loud yawn as she said the words. "Hey, you finally said it right!"

"Did I? I still think portpass sounds better." He laughed and continued to eat his sandwich. "We have anything to drink?"

"Just water." She passed him a flask.

"I feel like we should be searching for mushrooms or something," he commented as he rummaged through the beaded bag for the crisps, their hungry and tired condition reminding him all too much of their year on the run.

"And by we you mean me, I assume?"

"I found mushrooms!" he defended with a laugh, "I just didn't cook them."

"Yes, I know! You didn't cook anything!"

"No, I reckon not," he admitted sheepishly. "But that's just because your cooking was so good!"

"Oh, save it," she laughed and reached to grab the crisps out of his hand. Ron laughed and ceded them to her. This was nice. Just being with her like this. They couldn't be very affectionate on the previous train and having the privacy of the compartment again was nice.

"You want to try to get some sleep?" He glanced up to where he was guessing the top bunk came out of the wall, trying to be a gentleman. "I can set it up if you want."

"No, we can just stay like this," she murmured contentedly, kicking off her shoes, seeming to enjoy the odd position she'd chosen to rest in.

"Want me to rub your feet again?" he offered hopefully, thoroughly pleased with what he'd done to her on the last train ride. He hadn't expected her to close her eyes like she had, rolling her head to the side the way she usually did when he was doing other things to her. She'd liked it, like really liked it.

"Let's just stay like this," she repeated. He wasn't quite sure what 'like this' meant. They couldn't spend the entire train ride sitting in this strange position. There was a comfortable familiarity to the random way she laid atop him that was nice, but she couldn't stay like that for the entire 8 ½ hour trip. Not to mention the fact that he was quite desperate to kiss her again. They'd fallen asleep hand in hand last night and they'd laughed and smiled all day together, but every time he moved in to try to be affectionate, she had resisted. He wasn't sure whether it was her modesty because they were in public or if it had to do with last night's revelations. He worried it was the latter.

"Come and lie next to me," he invited boldly then.

"Am I too heavy for you?" she laughed and bounced her legs atop his teasingly.

"Just come here," he spoke plainly now. He hoped the simple nature of his words and the look in his eye would convey that he just wanted her closer and he held his breath, waiting to hear her reply.

He felt a great wave of relief when he watched her pull her legs onto the bed and slide in between him and the wall. Her entire body from her head to her toes was flush with his and he moved his arm beneath her head to make her more comfortable just like last night. This was when he didn't mind travelling by train. If they'd just been able to do this for the past twenty-four hours then he would have loved the trains. It was the constant boarding and debarking and waiting was tiresome. "That's more like it." He grinned and leaned over to kiss her then, but like she had all day she turned her head to the side so his mouth met her cheek. Ignoring her obvious reluctance, he was content to shower her cheek and the rest of her face with kisses.

"Did you know…back in fifth year…" Her words came out in short punctuated intervals that matched the movement of his mouth over her skin. "Our first year as prefects…all the first years thought...that you were my boyfriend."

"Oh yeah?" Ron murmured the words against her skin, hardly lifting his head. He loved kissing on her neck.

"Yes."

"Why'd they think that?" He continued to work her neck, but she didn't move her hands behind his head or drag his lips to hers like he hoped, she just kept talking.

"I suppose because of how we talked to each other and how we were always together," Hermione explained. "When you're eleven it's a bit strange to be that close with someone of the opposite sex."

"We were." He lifted his head up finally to look at her, recalling first year memories with Hermione.

"Yes, we were." Her lips curved in a tight-lipped smile.

"And look at us now." He grinned back at her and moved in to kiss her full on the mouth, but again she turned her cheek. "What?" He frowned at the behaviour.

"Are you going to go back?" she asked then, ignoring his inquiry about her withdrawal, but staring right into his eyes.

"To Hogwarts?" He knew that's what she was referring to, but he wanted to delay the conversation somehow. Ron had known this question was coming. He'd known it all year, since they'd set out with Harry. He waited to see if she'd relent, but her eyes remained focused on him in question. "Probably not."

"You know if you want to be an Auror, you need your N.E.W.T.S."

"I don't know what I want to be," Ron sighed.

"You should be an Auror," she stated confidently.

"Oh, and why is that?" Ron's interest was piqued by the matter-of-fact way she said it.

"Because you're good at it." She gave a simple shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You notice things. Things I don't even notice - about people, about where we are, about what could be a threat."

"I reckoned it was starting to bother you," Ron admitted.

"Well, it is," she laughed. "But it's impressive. You're impressive."

"You're impressive," he growled playfully, wrapping his free arm further around her and dropping his hand so it rested on her bum.

"Ron, I'm tired," she protested wearily when he attempted to kiss her a third time.

"I know, but we can sleep in a bit."

"We can sleep now," she groaned. "I'm tired."

"You can be tired - " Ron placed several inviting kisses on her collarbone. " - and still…"

"Stop." The firm tone of her voice caused Ron to finally relent and roll away from her

"Is this about last night?" he dared ask what had been on his mind since the curious conversation they'd had before climbing into bed last night.

"What?" She laughed all too obviously at the remark. "I said I'm tired."

"It is, isn't it?

"We have a really long day tomorrow," she reasoned.

"Oh, come on. I can read you like a book, Granger," he pressed, knowing he was correct.

"How would you know, you've never read a book!" she fired and Ron just grinned at the playful retort.

"I finished The Code of Secrecy on the train to Belgrade, thank you very much."

"When?" she sounded in disbelief.

"While you were snoring so loud you woke up the bloke behind you!" he nuzzled into her neck in an attempt to be playful.

"I do not snore!" she shot and Ron was pleased that she wasn't pulling away from him now. He'd always been good at distracting Hermione.

"It's cute." He grinned then and placed a wet kiss just below her ear, sucking at her skin teasingly.

"Look, we're going to have a really long day." She scrunched up her shoulders this time so he had to relent. "We get into Sofia at 8 AM so let's just sleep."

"Okay." His curt reply did little to hide his disappointment as he withdrew his arm from behind her head.

"Don't be angry," she groaned, "don't be angry about this."

"Let's just sleep." He ignored her and fluffed up the pillow behind his head, leaving the question of where she would sleep to her.

"I'm just tired," she maintained.

"So sleep."

"You're angry."

"I'm not angry."

"Yes, you are!" she laughed haughtily. "Look, I know last night, things got…" Ron's interest was piqued at the first reference to the events of last night all day. Things had got close, had got hot, had got amazing. He'd been able to feel so much of her in a way that almost paralyzed him to think about. "Weird."

"Weird?" The reply was hardly what he had hoped to hear.

"Just with…everything," she stammered.

"What was weird?" he frowned. He thought last night had been incredible.

"Last night."

"What about last night?"

"What happened." Her vague responses continued.

"What happened?" Ron repeated, not trying to be annoying, but just needing more.

"You know what happened."

"A lot of stuff did." He laughed, thoroughly amused by her reluctance to talk about any of it explicitly. He wasn't sure whether it been the conversation about his tendency to get hard every time they had a snog now or the way she'd pressed him for the details of his relationship with Lavender. He wasn't even sure she was referring to what they'd talked about. Perhaps she was talking about what they'd done and the fact that he'd nearly removed her bra and she'd rubbed up against him in a manner that left little to the imagination. He needed more clarification. Maybe it was all of the above. Maybe everything had been weird and nothing had been natural or amazing at all. She opened up her mouth several times like she was trying to speak, but no sounds came out. Ron remained silent, suddenly fearful that instead of moving them forward as he'd thought, the conversation in the sleeper car had moved them back.

"I just think we should sleep," she mumbled, failing to clarify anything.

"All right," he relented and he knew then he'd fucked things up. Telling her about Lavender, being honest about what he'd done, had made things weird between them. How he wished he'd just been able to lie. She didn't even want him to kiss her now.

"It's a long day tomorrow."

"Yeah, you said that," he sighed.

"Ron?" There was a sad and plaintive tone to her voice when she said his name. "Please don't be angry about this."

"About what?"

"About wanting to go to sleep."

"I think it's about more than just wanting to go to sleep," he laughed knowingly.

"It is." Her meek reply surprised him.

"Well, then...we should talk about it, right?" The thought made him uncomfortable, but so did the possibility of ignoring it and just going to bed.

"I don't know." Hermione's voice was a low murmur and she turned so she was staring up at the ceiling. They sat there for a while, side by side, not moving and not talking, but obviously both thinking. He would give so much to be a Legilimens right now. "It's just – it's not rational," Hermione finally spoke. "I know that it's not – to be upset about it. It was in the past and - and we weren't together and I need to be...I need to be rational." Ron almost wanted to laugh at how fiercely determined she looked to be reasonable and not be upset by the fact that he'd done more than kiss another girl.

"It just…it happened," he blurted out with a helpless shrug, anxious to convey how little the things he'd done with Lavender actually meant. "It's different for blokes. It's not really that big a deal, y'know?" The disgusted look on Hermione's face told him immediately that had been the wrong thing to say. "I mean, I know that it is to you and – and it is to me because I wish I could take it all back, but…at the time it was just, I dunno it just felt good." Hermione blanched and Ron groaned at his own ineloquence. "Fuck, I'm not saying that to hurt you," he clarified. "I just think it needs said that I wasn't, you know, thinking like that, you know with my brain or with my - with anything else - " he quickly corrected before saying anything else. "I was thinking with…"

"Your penis."

"Well…yeah," Ron gave an awkward shrug, thoroughly amused that Hermione Granger had said the word 'penis'. His penis. Never mind the fact that she was looking at him with a disapproving look that reminded him much too much of Professor McGonagall. "It happens sometimes, y'know?" he admitted. "I don't really...well, think clearly. Blood flows that way not that way." He pointed first to his crotch and then to his head and offered a smile, hoping his honesty would endear him to her. Her lips did curl slightly at the candid self-description and so Ron dared say a bit more. "And I don't want to do anything now, honest. I'm tired too. I just - I just want to kiss you," he offered, "I've wanted to all day and I get you not wanting to on the train with all the people, but I just want to kiss you before I go to sleep."

There it was. Now he sounded like a complete twat. Ron cringed as he heard his own words in his head. I want to kiss you before I go to sleep. Buggering fuck, it was like one of his mum's Celestina Warbeck songs.

"Just kiss?" Hermione's tone softened suddenly and Ron used the opportunity to slide his arms around her.

"Yes."

"Then why are your hands on my bum?"

"Because you've got a nice bum," he remarked and did his best to look serious, which just caused them both to share a laugh finally.

The comfortable laughter seemed to relax her because finally when he moved in to kiss her, she didn't pull away. The movement of her mouth was halted and restrained at first, but soon their tongues slid together in a wonderfully familiar way and he delighted in the feel of her once again. One day without kissing her felt like too much. Sixteen hours had felt like sixteen days. How could he tell her that without sounding like a complete prat again? That after waiting years to feel her lips on his, he hated ever having to wait again. His fingers stroked the small of her back through the cloth that kept him from touching her skin.

For the millionth time, his mind drifted to thoughts of last night and what had happened in a bunk just like this one. Last night, she'd allowed his hands to run all over her bare skin. He'd unbuttoned her blouse and come tantalizingly close to removing more. And then he'd been honest with her and now things were 'weird'.

"Okay." Her voice was high and breathy as she pulled her lips off his. "Let's go to sleep."

"Five more minutes," he pleaded like he did when his mum woke him for Sunday chores. The kiss was all too brief for his liking.

"No." Ron was pleased to see she laughed softly as she spoke the words.

"Do you want to stay down here?" Ron asked tentatively, his hand lightly stroking her arm, eagerly hoping she'd say yes, but so desperate to show her he was okay if she didn't.

"I guess." She yawned. " I'm too tired to climb up there." It was hardly the affirmation Ron craved, but he reckoned he'd take it.

"Do you want to leave the light on?" He looked to the flame then.

"We have to brush our teeth," she suddenly remembered, sitting upright and reaching across him for the toothbrush in her beaded bag.

"Two days without a shower and you're worried about your teeth?" Ron groaned, hardly believing how very much like his mum Hermione was.

"Come on," she laughed at his reluctance and swung her legs to the floor.

"I'll brush them in the morning," he groaned.

"Are you that lazy?" she laughed.

"I'm tired."

"Well, I won't be kissing you tomorrow until you brush them," she laughed and Ron smiled at the threat of withholding further kisses just because it meant the promise of more. He watched in amusement as she readied her toothbrush and used the flask to polish her teeth over the empty dustbin. He guessed they weren't going to change into their pyjamas. He wondered if he should even bother slipping beneath the sheet when she climbed into bed next to him. Stretching his legs out, he jammed himself against the wall in an attempt to make as much room for her on the tiny plastic mattress as possible. Part of him was afraid in the two minutes it took her to brush her teeth that she'd change her mind and choose to pass the night on the top bunk. He waited for her to finish, trying not to look so eager, but even after she put her toothbrush away she did not immediately join him. Ron saw her reach behind her back and it took him a moment to realise what she was doing. She was working to remove her bra beneath her shirt. His eyes widened at the action, fixing on the discarded bra now on the floor.

"It's more comfortable," she explained, her cheeks a faint shade of pink he could detect even in the soft blue light of the compartment.

"Right." He did his best to act calm, like she took her bra off in front of him all the time. Inside his stomach was doing somersaults. There was nothing normal about this situation, but it was natural again. It felt good and right like last night when he'd turned the lights off and asked about electricity.

She climbed onto the tiny mattress and turned on her side to face him. Here it was.

They were sharing a bed.

Ron was relieved to see she looked as nervous and anxious as he did. Their legs intertwined at the bottom and Ron was momentarily reminded of last night and how everything had started with her foot running up his leg. He thought for a moment that she was thinking the same thing too as they just looked to each other across the pillow, but then he saw a hint of sadness behind her eyes.

"I know we should have gone back to London." The soft murmur wasn't at all what Ron expected to hear and all other thoughts about what else they might do tonight quickly faded. "I know this wasn't the right thing to do."

"Who said?" he shrugged, unsure how to tell her he had sort of enjoyed their two days on a train together.

"If we'd gone back to London like you said, we'd probably be in Australia already."

"We don't know that."

"I just didn't want to go backwards," she admitted and her voice was shaky. "Because going backwards would be like…it's like…" Her words faded away and she blinked slowly.

"We'll get to Australia." He dared to reach out and touch her shoulder then. "We just...took the scenic route."

"Yeah, it's really scenic in these," she laughed and looked about the little compartment still lit up by her blue flame.

"They are for me," he murmured suggestively, glancing down at her cleavage.

"Stop," she laughed and rolled her head back.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "it's a nice view though."

"Thank you for…for…" she stammered over words.

"Yeah," Ron whispered, before she could finish. He didn't know what exactly she was going to thank him for, but he figured it didn't really matter. He'd be there for her like she'd been there for him the past week, no matter what.

"About the other thing," she murmured quietly then, eyes peering up at him with a slightly covetous look that indicated what other thing she was referring to.

"Yeah?" Ron tried to be calm.

"I think I just need...a little time. I don't want it to bother me, I really don't – but - " Hermione got that slightly mad and determined look on her face that Ron loved so much.

"But it does," Ron finished before she could.

"It does. It's not rational, but it does."

"It's okay to not be rational all the time, y'know?" He couldn't help but laugh at her from across the pillow. "It's okay if you want to be angry and hate me for it."

"I don't hate you for it." Her reply came much too quick.

"I think you do a little bit," he replied knowingly. "I kind of hate me too if it helps."

"I just need a little time," she repeated the term that Ron didn't quite understand. He wasn't sure what kind of time was she talking about and what it meant. He figured maybe it meant time to process things, but then wasn't sure whether it was processing his relationship with Lavender or the fact that they both very clearly wanted to do much more than just snog with all their clothes on. Even if he figured out what she needed time to process, he wasn't sure how much time she was even talking about. There was a big difference between a couple hours, a couple days, and a couple weeks.

"Okay," he agreed stupidly, without even knowing what he was agreeing on. His agreement seemed to please her though because she bunched up the pillow behind her head then and she gave a secret smile. It was the kind of smile that thrilled Ron because he knew he was the only one to ever see it. There was nervousness there and excitement and a little hint of desire, despite what she'd just said about needing time.

"Goodnight." She smiled and Ron uttered the words back to her, though he knew he wouldn't be doing much sleeping at all, not with Hermione this close to him. How he wished she'd just scoot a few inches closer. He reckoned if he'd just kept his mouth shut last night and lied about Lavender, they'd be closer right now. There wouldn't be this gap between them. She wouldn't need time to process or be rational or whatever it was she needed. The blue flame continued to light up the compartment as Ron watched her eyes close, her lips curving ever so slightly into a content smile that made him feel strangely warm.

The bed was too narrow for them to both sleep on their backs, so he remained on his side, even as she continued to edge toward him throughout the night. Ron delighted in watching her entire body slowly, unconsciously, slide toward his. When her hand reached his chest, her fingers stretching out and her palm pressing against him, he couldn't help but interpret it to mean she wanted him to lie back so he did.

Sure enough, as soon as he did the rest of her arm snaked around his body so she was holding him tightly, her face nuzzling dangerously close to his neck. She was so close to him now, he could study every detail of her face. He stared closely at the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose, the blemishes on her cheek, the hint of toothpaste that was at the corner of her mouth, and the lone eyelash on her cheek. She was perfect. Literally fucking perfect in every way. He hated how long it had taken him to realise that. He hated how much he'd screwed things up last year. He hated that it made her sad. All he wanted to do was make her smile. They'd had enough sadness in the past few years for a whole lifetime. He reckoned the world owed them some happiness. So he lay awake with her against him, planning nothing but ways to make her smile. He would brush his teeth first thing when they woke up. He'd pay attention to directions when they got to Sofia. He'd let her tell him stories about the history of every city they visited even if he didn't care. He'd learn more about Muggle things and talk about electricity every chance he could. He'd give her another foot rub. He'd talk about trips they would take together because she seemed to like when he talked about the future and included her in it. He wanted her to smile like that all the time. He stared at the smooth skin of her cheek, still lit up by the tiny blue flame they'd never bothered to put out.

The first facial tic was nearly undetectable, just a quick twitch of her eye and that was all. But then it was accompanied by a spasm throughout her right arm, the one sprawled across his body, which made it impossible to ignore. There was a sharp intake of air next and her arm jerked back suddenly. He could both see and feel her breathing start to quicken against him.

He called her name softly, like he had that morning in Gryffindor tower when he'd been able to help soothe her with a few calming words. His words seemed to have no effect on her now. A pained whimper sounded from the back of her throat and her limbs continued to quiver so he spoke her name again. When the only response was a tremor that caused her whole body to jump, he instinctively reached with his hand to grasp her right shoulder.

He only meant to comfort her, to let her know he was there, but her eyes snapped open in terror at his touch and she gasped so loudly when she awoke it almost sounded like a scream. Her terrified eyes stared blindly ahead.

"Hermione?" he called her name unsurely. Her chest was heaving as she sucked in the stale air of the compartment through her mouth. Ron wasn't entirely convinced that she knew where she was or that he was even there. Her chest continued to rise and fall as he waited to see some recognition in her face. "Hermione, you're okay. We're – we're on the train," he stammered in assurance. She didn't even look like she knew who he was. "It's me, Ron." Her laboured breathing took a while to slow down and her eyes took a long time to finally soften and rest on him. "You all right?" he asked stupidly, well aware the answer was no. Her only response was to close her eyes, rest her head back on his shoulder, and swiftly and silently, as if nothing had happened, to fall back asleep.

And he knew then that she had no idea she suffered such tremors when she slept. She had no awareness of the fact that she pulled at her left sleeve all the time to cover the ghastly cuts that he knew were still there.

She had no idea that she wasn't okay.

The realisation was as comforting as it was disturbing. He wasn't the only one haunted by the nightmare that they had lived through. She wasn't coping as perfectly as she seemed to be. He knew that, of course. He'd started to see her come undone yesterday when she'd insisted on taking this train ride and continuing forward. He knew then there were things in her head that were not all right, but he didn't like thinking about Hermione like that.

She was Hermione.

She'd be okay. She always was. So he'd simply tried to distract her with kisses and jokes and playful touches. He'd make her smile like he always did and remind her things would be fine because she was Hermione and she always figured things out. But this wasn't something she could fix because she didn't even know she did it and this was the kind of thing that took more than playful flirting for him to help.

The look of terror on her face told him it could only be one thing. It was the same reason she'd covered her arms for weeks, it was the reason behind the bandage on her left arm that she never took off. Ron recalled the cavalier manner with which she'd dismissed her torture when his family had found out about it. He wondered if she'd blow him off the same way she had at the Burrow if he told her about what she did in her sleep. He wanted it to stop, the shaking and trembling, but he wasn't sure if he should even bother telling her. Talking about it was upsetting and there were so many other upsetting things they had to deal with first.

They still had to get to Sofia, somehow locate Viktor Krum, convince him to help them, get to Australia with the limited funds they had, and ultimately find the Grangers. Along the way, they had to keep an eye out for whoever killed Theodore Nott, who may or may not also be responsible for sabotaging their Portkey to Paris. Tonight, he finally realised they also had to deal with the fact that they were both awfully fucked up from the last year and however hard they tried to kiss it away and pretend they were both fine, neither could sleep through the night like a normal person. Lastly, there was all this complicated relationship stuff about the growing physical side of their relationship and that somehow seemed more important than anything else.

Back at Hogwarts, Hermione always liked to make lists of things when life got complicated. She always sorted them so that the most critical things were on top. So her lists would start off with something of tremendous importance like "Find out who opened the Chamber of Secrets" and lower on the list would be things that allowed them to do that, such as talking to Hagrid or brewing Polyjuice Potion. At the bottom of the list would be minor things like a Charms essay or two hours of Potions revision. Ron always told her she was mental for having such silly unimportant things on her lists, but Hermione always argued that they couldn't do anything at the top of the list if they didn't do the stuff on the bottom first.

Getting to Australia and finding her parents was obviously the most important thing and would be at the top, but Ron wasn't sure whether dealing with her nightmares was like Charms homework that they had to take care of first. Perhaps, they should sort out what exactly she meant by needing "time" before confronting the nightmares that haunted them both. He had no idea what should be a priority. He wasn't the type of person to plan out lists. He'd never really made one in his entire life, but this all felt too important. This felt like the kind of situation where he needed to actually think about things before he did them. He didn't know if he could take another night watching her shake like she had. He'd been completely powerless to stop it. It had been like being stuck in the cellar and listening to her screams all over again.

His eyes rested on Hermione, at her cheek resting against his chest as she peacefully slumbered on against him. Here's all he knew. He hated watching her suffer. He liked making Hermione smile and laugh. He liked snogging her. He desperately wanted to do more than that and, deep down, he knew she did too.

So here's what he would do. He'd support her the same way she'd supported him. He'd give her the time she claimed to need. He'd do whatever she seemed to want to do, which right now still included kissing and sleeping together. They'd deal with things as they happened. He wouldn't ask her about her nightmares and he knew after tonight, he wouldn't ever try to wake her up again.


	25. Chapter 25

He disliked Sofia almost as soon as he stepped off the train and it had nothing to do with Viktor Krum. In France, not knowing the language had been discomforting, but at least he understood the alphabet and could make an attempt to speak the words. Here nothing looked familiar and, to make matters worse, Hermione didn't seem to understand it any better. She kept muttering about how she thought the O with a line through it was like an F and the letter that looked like an H was actually E, but that didn't help them at all. Ron had grown moderately comfortable traveling in the Muggle world the past forty-eight hours, but everything from the moment they stepped off the train was foreign. He had difficulty remembering a time he'd ever felt more lost in his life.

The air was cold inside the station and the drab grey walls didn't make it feel any more welcoming. There was iron grating on the wall too, which looked like an attempt to be decorative, but just made him feel like they were in a kind of prison.

Ron and Hermione clung to each other in the busy train station as travelers hurried past them. He tried to remind himself what on earth had convinced him agreeing with Hermione's foolish desire to continue traveling eastward was a good idea. Men in suits bustled past them. Beggars were lined up along the walls with tattered clothing, mangy looking dogs, and signs Ron could not understand. He couldn't even figure out which way the exit was, not that they'd have any idea where to go if they did manage to locate the exit. He glanced to Hermione, who looked just as flustered as he did.

A voice suddenly blared through the building from overhead and loud foreign words filled the cavernous room. Together with the sounds of trains departing and people talking, Ron could hardly hear himself think. He edged closer to Hermione, unnerved by both the noise and the crowd.

"So where is this flat of Viktor's?" He bent down and barked the words into her ear. "Do we know how to get there from here?"

"It's not a flat!" Hermione shouted back over the din. "He has a house south of town."

"Well, where are we? North of town?" Ron looked helplessly around the station, hardly believing how poorly prepared they were. She'd slept the last three hours on the train and he'd been reluctant to wake her, especially since her sleep had been mostly peaceful and tremor-free. They pulled into the station with no map of the city and nothing more than an address Hermione had from last year. As far as plans went, Ron would have difficulty coming up with a more poorly devised one. Still, he recalled her attempt at an explanation about not going back and the way the words had failed her. The last thing he wanted was to remind her how rashly she'd acted and how little sense this plan actually made. "Look there, is that the city?" He pointed instead to a wall that looked like it had a map on it. Clinging to Hermione's hand and watching for anybody that looked at all suspicious, Ron led her across the room to the map of the city.

The map might as well have been written in Gobbledegook. Aside from recognizing what lines represented roads, neither he nor Hermione could make much sense of it. They assumed the large red dot to the north indicated where they were, but if Viktor did indeed have an estate south of town, they had their work cut out for them. It looked to be at least thirty kilometers south of the red dot.

"Maybe I could ask somebody?" Hermione looked around hopefully, but there was nobody else looking at the map.

"Be careful," Ron warned as she looked around hopefully for someone. He didn't like the idea of Hermione tapping on some stranger's shoulder and asking for help. She didn't seem too confident either. Every time she seemed to work up the courage to ask somebody, they continued on in a hurry and she retreated back to Ron.

"Can you help us?" she finally asked a matronly looking woman, who nodded her head up and down, but continued past them. An older gentleman with silver hair stepped alongside them next and Hermione again attempted to speak to him. She got as far as pointing to the map and saying "help", before he too nodded his head and hurried away. Their closest ally came in the form of a teenage girl who shook her head when they asked her to assist them, but nodded her head and walked away when Hermione asked if she knew Boulevard Aleksandr Karavelov. Finally, a disheveled young man with stringy brown hair approached them. He reminded Ron very much of a Snatcher in both his appearance and smell and his greasy hair looked like it hadn't seen shampoo in a while.

"You help, no?" he asked in broken English. Hermione looked back to Ron warily, who shrugged his shoulders at the same time that he tightened his grip on her hand.

"We need help, yes," she spoke hesitantly.

"I help." The young man gave a crooked smile to reveal several missing teeth. He pressed his hands to his chest, shook his head from side to side and then pointed at the map. "Here."

The red dot that he and Hermione had thought indicated their location seemed to be correct. Ron felt triumphant that they'd reasoned that much.

"Do - you - know," Hermione spoke slowly to the young man who didn't seem all there, "do you know Boulevard Aleksandar Karevalov?"

The man shook his head no, but pointed to a spot on the map.

"You don't know where it is?" Hermione looked crestfallen as again the young man shook his head. Still, he was pointing to a spot on the map south of town.

"You do know where it is?"

"Da," he pointed to the map, but again shook his head from side to side.

"Hermione, I think yes means no here," Ron mumbled out the corner of his mouth as recognition finally dawned on him. The people who had walked away while nodding, this bizarre –albeit helpful – fellow shaking his head. "I think he does know where it is."

"This is Boulevard Aleksandar Karavelov?" Hermione pointed to where his finger was.

"Da." He grinned again and shook his head.

"Thank you!" She looked so happy she might cry. "Thank you," she repeated again though Ron was quite sure the young man had no idea what she was saying. He stood there with his crooked grin and just stared at the two as they hugged.

"Thank you," Ron repeated in a decisive manner that he hoped would indicate that he could leave now. Instead, the man just held out his palm.

"Thank you." Hermione's voice wavered a bit as the man did not go away. His palm remained outstretched and he began speaking very quickly and angrily to them in Bulgarian.

"He wants us to pay him," Ron muttered as the man thrust his palm at Ron this time.

"Da . You pay." He shook his head.

"You want money for telling us where something is?" Ron snorted. "You're mental."

"I help." The man was growing increasingly agitated.

"We've got no money, mate, sorry," Ron remarked callously, turning away to leave the young man behind.

"It's true. We don't have any money to pay you," Hermione spoke slowly and a bit more kindly than he had. Laughing at her attempt at kindness to the beggar, who was growing increasingly loud and irritated, Ron moved his arm around her body to turn her away, but as he did he spotted another youth, this one with a black bandana covering his greasy hair, creeping up behind Hermione and clearly eying the beaded bag around her body. When Ron whirled around to confront him he scampered away, but the one who had assisted them made a sudden grab for Hermione.

Ron seized his wrist firmly before his greedy hands could reach her. He saw the stringy-haired young man wince slightly and cry out in pain as Ron bent his arm around at a painful angle and tightened his grip.

"Bad idea," he growled and was pleased to hear that "ow" sounded the same in English and Bulgarian. "You helped us and we appreciate it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "We said thank you, now goodbye." He knew the young man couldn't understand a word he was saying, but the look in his dark brown eyes indicated he clearly understood what Ron meant. Ron released his hand and practically flung the young man across the train station.

Cursing loudly at them in Bulgarian, he walked over to join a group of young people, who looked equally disheveled, standing against the far wall.

The disturbance caused many in the station to look at Ron and Hermione curiously. Ron stood up a little taller, as if challenging anyone else who wanted to have a go at them to come now. They hadn't survived all they had this year only to fall prey to a couple slimy Bulgarian pickpockets. Hermione looked alarmed by the whole course of events, her face still frozen in the same look of shock she had when the young man grabbed at her.

"I think he just wanted to get paid. I - I don't think he was going to try to rob me," she stammered.

"No, the fellow behind you was," Ron informed, amazed at her ability to still think the best of people. She gasped and immediately looked behind her to the place where the man, who was now long gone, had been sneaking up. "Come on, let's get out of here." Ron looked around at the many pairs of shifty eyes he was now noticing. "Let me hold the bag." He took the beaded bag from over Hermione's shoulder and shoved it into an interior coat pocket beside his wand. Then, wrapping his hand firmly around hers, he led them out what he could only guess was the exit.

Hermione was quiet as they stepped out the doors of the train station to Sofia. The city outside was as busy as it had been in the rail station, with people bustling about on the cold May morning. The dark clouds overhead blocked any chance of sunlight and it made the cold grey city look like the kind of place where Dementors would thrive, save for the bright orange buses and yellow automobiles that roared by.

Ron looked to Hermione, hoping she wasn't thinking what he was, which was that coming to this strange country was a terrible idea. She'd been so desperate to keep moving back in Dijon, her lip quivering and tears threatening behind her eyes, that he hadn't even thought about the fact that neither of them knew how to speak the language or navigate the city. All they had was an address.

Taking a breath, he squeezed her hand a bit tighter and walked to another large map outside the station. They'd figured things out with less. Surely, they could find the best way to Boulevard Aleksandar Karevalov. As soon as they approached the map however, they were swarmed by men in heavily accented English offering to get them a cab.

Ron recalled what they had learned about customs here and nodded his head vigorously, repeating the word 'no' loudly as he shielded Hermione from them with his body, the same way he had hidden her from the nosy journalists back at the Ministry. Eventually, the men all realized they would not be getting any business from him and they relented.

"Do you think can we Apparate there?" Ron studied the map, feeling none too eager to try to navigate this foreign city the Muggle way. "We know it's a real place. You know the address."

"He has protective enchantments all around the property," Hermione informed quietly. "You know, to keep out reporters and fans."

"Right," Ron grumbled.

"So, what do we have to take one of those?" Ron motioned to a great orange bus that rumbled past them.

"I suppose we ought to just take a taxi." Hermione chewed on her lip.

"A taxi? Is that like when we rode to King's Cross in that car with Harry third year?" Ron tried to recall the last time he'd heard the Muggle term.

"Yes." Hermione looked up and down the street, eying the people who were climbing into the yellow automobiles.

"Won't we need money for that?"

"Oh, right." Hermione's teeth continued to gnash on her bottom lip and she grew quiet. He knew what she was thinking. They could ride in the taxi the same way they'd ridden on the train. They could use magic to get past the problem of payment. They needed what little money Hermione had left for Australia.

"I'll do it," Ron offered so she didn't even have to suggest it. He knew she hated it. Using magic for such unethical practices did feel wrong. He knew his dad would not approve, but then he didn't see any solution. They didn't know how long they would have to spend in Australia locating her parents. They needed to hold onto what little Muggle money they had. Besides, this whole thing was the Ministry's fault. If their sodding Portkey hadn't messed up the first time they'd already be in Australia.

"Do it at the end," she murmured quietly, sounding ashamed that she was agreeing to it. "When he asks for payment."

"Okay." Ron rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, trying to let her know what they were about to do was okay somehow. They had no other choice. He saw her inhale sharply and nod her head in acceptance, before leading him into a great mob of people on the pavement.

Most of them were encumbered with baggage and waiting to grab one in a constant stream of yellow automobiles. Hermione led the way, but Ron stayed right behind her, his body flush with hers and his hands wrapped protectively around her waist as they shuffled through the mob. The beaded bag was pressed snugly between their bodies where nobody could attempt to grab it while they moved together through the crowd. If she felt at all uncomfortable about the close proximity of their bodies, she said nothing. He only wanted to keep her safe. The fact that she was intimately positioned right in front of him, her backside pressed against him and his hands locked firmly around her, was his way of ensuring nobody laid a finger on her. He kept a watchful eye out for anyone who might approach them while Hermione kept an eye out for an available taxi.

They moved forward together like one, legs moving in unison and her feet practically on top of his. The tightly packed crowd unnerved him and only made him snug up closer to her. They were soon pressed so tightly together, Ron wagered he'd likely have a stiffy if they weren't surrounded by so many people and he weren't so uncomfortable and nervous.

"Are we going to get one?" he asked in annoyance as he watched people all around them climb into taxis.

"I'm trying!" She attempted to stick out her arm, but each time it looked like she had one flagged down, somebody else would crowd in front of her and take it. Growing exasperated and increasingly more agitated as people bumped and crowded past them, Ron inched forward. Keeping her in front of him, he shoved past two men, bumped in front of another and stuck out his long arm. Hermione turned around to gape incredulously at him when a yellow car immediately stopped short in front of him.

"Youngest of six boys, remember?" he grunted as he muscled his way toward the cab and opened the door. "I'm used to having to fight for stuff. Hurry up and get in before someone else takes it." He glanced behind at the pushy and frustrated group of people and all but shoved Hermione into the open door.

"Boulevard Aleksandar Karavelov," Hermione tried to speak in her best Bulgarian accent. The driver peered around and looked at the two of them. He was a thickset man with tufted grey eyebrows that curved upwards and Ron couldn't shake the feeling that he was surveying the two of them with amusement as they huddled in the backseat. "Boulevard Aleksandar Karavelov?" she repeated, this time forgoing any attempt at an accent.

"Da, da," the driver acknowledged and pushed a button up next to the steering wheel. Ron saw a timer immediately begin to count up as the driver sped away, quickly leaving the station behind.

Hermione let out a loud sigh, looking relieved that they were, at last, on their way. He wasn't sure whether they could relax yet, but at least they were moving somewhere. That's what she seemed to care about most. They weren't standing still or gaping at a map, they were moving forward. Reaching across the seat, he moved his hand on top of hers. He reckoned the driver probably couldn't understand a word they said, but Ron was reluctant to talk about anything in great detail in his presence so they traveled in silence in the backseat. He knew that under any other circumstances Hermione would likely have her face pressed against the glass, drinking in the sights of the old city, but she remained huddled against him the entire trip, appearing deep in thought.

He couldn't tell whether it was the clouds overhead, but the city outside was as grey and bleak as the inside of the train station. The block concrete buildings all looked identical. Though they did pass several onion-domed cathedrals and green tree-lined streets, most of the city contained the same bland rectangular buildings. After three left-hand turns in a row, Ron began to wonder whether the driver was purposefully taking his time to get them to their destination. He was quite confident they'd passed by the same old statue of a lion more than once. Hermione remained silent against him, hardly seeming to notice. A great snow-capped mountain stretched before them, which Ron hoped meant they were finally moving south. They sat silently in the back seat for what felt like the better part of an hour, drawing closer and closer to the mountain, until the driver finally began barking at them in Bulgarian and pointing out the window. They were on a narrow street right at the base of the mountain. Everything was very green here and the buildings all had gates and were larger than any inside the city center. Ron hated to admit it was actually quite nice.

"Forty-two," Hermione said to the driver, "four, two." She held up her fingers to clarify. The driver nodded his head and sped around a curve in the road finally slowing by a great iron gate with a number thirty-eight on it. The one next-door read forty-four.

"Ne znam," the driver sighed, looking out the window at the lack of a number forty-two. Then he turned around to face them, presumably to demand payment. "Plashtam."

"Now, Ron," she whispered under her breath.

"Plashtam!" the driver repeated, sounding much more agitated.

Ron took out his wand and said the incantation as he aimed it squarely at the driver, who immediately stopped asking to be paid and instead began scratching his head. Hermione closed her eyes, like it pained her to use magic in such a manipulative way, as she opened up the door and retreated from the car in a hurry before his senses could return to him.

Ron noticed the car was slow to drive away and he kept waiting for the beefy driver to turn it back around and accost them for doing a runner. Only when the car disappeared around the bend did he exhale a sigh of relief.

"It feels so wrong," Hermione muttered, walking to the edge of the street. "It is wrong."

"He was trying to get one over on us, Hermione," Ron laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he was a con!" he snorted. "He took us west then east then west again and all we had to do the whole time was go south."

"Oh." The passive comment indicated how little attention she'd paid on the trip here.

"So don't think about it," Ron tried to assure.

"The train was still wrong. They weren't trying to cheat us."

"What other option did we have?" he tried to argue rationally.

"We stole. We broke the law." Ron had no reply for her. They'd had similar arguments this year when they had been forced to steal food with the help of Harry's invisibility cloak. Then their options had been steal or starve, but that hadn't seemed to matter to Hermione.

"We're here." Ron took her hand in his and gave a supportive squeeze. "Don't think about it."

Hermione gave a loud sigh that he couldn't quite make sense of and focused on the houses before them. They were well outside the city center in a very green neighborhood with houses that seemed to grow right into the mountainside. The houses were all quite modern though, red-roofed homes with electronically wired gates all around them and fancy automobiles parked outside. Hermione looked back and forth between number thirty-eight and forty-four.

"His house should be right here. I'm quite sure it's forty-two," she stammered. "Maybe it's like Grimmauld Place?"

"Well, then we can only get in if we're Secret-Keepers," he reminded. He didn't bother mentioning that none of these fancy Muggle estates looked like the kind of place in which Viktor Krum would live anyway.

"Right." Hermione sighed and dropped down onto the gravel path, her back against the stone wall of house number forty-four. "I don't get it. His house has to be right here."

Ron remained standing and looked down the boulevard before his eyes rested again on the roots of the mountain that stretched out before them. The massive mountain was the only thing here that reminded Ron of Viktor Krum. He raised his hand up to his eyes to block out the sun, which was finally starting to peak out from behind the clouds, and looked up the mountainside. There, nestled in amongst the trees, about halfway to the top, he could see something that looked like a building.

"You don't reckon that's his house, do you?" Ron followed the property line between houses thirty-eight and forty-four up the mountain. "Behind that big group of trees? There's a bit of stone there and I think I see a chimney."

"You think that's a house?" Hermione rose to her feet and turned around to follow the line of Ron's hand..

"It might be. It seems like a place he would live, doesn't it?" Ron shrugged.

"I suppose." Hermione's eyes fixed on the tiny bit of stone tucked into the trees. "It is quite hidden."

"Think we can Apparate there and see?" Ron laced his hand in Hermione's.

"But he said he has enchantments," she lamented. "They're meant to keep people away."

"We should still be able to Apparate outside of it though, right? Just to that batch of trees up there and then we'll walk the rest of the way," Ron spoke hopefully. He wasn't keen to learn all the ways Durmstrang taught its pupils to keep out unwelcome visitors, but surely the enchantments couldn't stretch that far. "It's worth a shot, right?"

They looked around the street for any Muggles, then she squeezed his hand and the next thing he knew they were standing underneath a dense canopy of tall fir trees. It was dark beneath the trees, dark enough to be more than the slightest bit unnerving, and he felt a cold chill in the air. It felt like the same kind of cold when Dementors approached.

"It's just the wind," Hermione assured, likely feeling his hand tighten around hers, but Ron cast the incantation regardless. It was the first time he'd uttered Expecto Patronum since his pitiful attempt to conjure one in the Battle and he was surprised at how easily his silver terrier burst forth now. Its presence, as well as the ease with which he'd been able to cast it, cheered him immensely. The little dog weaved between the trees adding a faint silver light to the dark forest.

"That's really good," Hermione admired.

"Thanks." Ron felt a sudden spring in his step.

"Mine never look that good," she muttered and cast a simple Lumos charm to add some more light as they began to pick their way through the woods. Ron could hardly believe Hermione Granger sounded envious about a bit of magic he had cast. "No matter how hard I think about it."

"Well, it's not really supposed to be a spell you think about." Ron shrugged and pushed back a low-hanging tree limb so she could pass by.

"Well, you do have to think." Hermione frowned. "You have to think of a memory."

"Yeah, but you don't really…think about the memory," he continued to explain, his silver Patronus still leading the way. "You feel it." Ron desperately hoped his sense of direction was taking them toward where he thought he'd seen the chimney. "You remember how it made you feel, how it makes you feel now. It's not about thinking. You just…sort of let it fill you up."

"What memory did you use for this then?" Hermione inquired, looking at the fully corporeal terrier that was still trotting along in front of them. Ron went suddenly silent. He wasn't sure how she would react if he told her it was the way she'd moved against him two nights ago in the sleeper car and the way she'd stumbled over the words that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He hoped his silence would make it obvious so he wouldn't have to speak, but her eyes stayed on him. "It's quite good," she pressed.

He could lie. He could tell her he used the memories that had helped him conjure the terrier back in those DA meetings. He could tell her it was being sorted into Gryffindor back when he was eleven and making the Quidditch team fifth year. His Patronus had never been this strong before though. In DA meetings, those memories had fueled it for a short time and then it faded away. This was different. He reckoned it was because each memory of Hermione seemed to melt into another. The past ten days of kissing and touching and holding hands and talking about how much she wanted him and how kissing him was like getting her Hogwarts letters were all he could feel at the moment. The Burrow, his family, the horrors of the Battle all seemed so far away. He reckoned he'd never have difficulty with the Patronus charm again. Even here, his uncertainty being in this dark wood and the concern weighing on him that this plan would dissolve into nothing faded if he just remembered the way her body arched against his on the train. So he told the truth.

"You," he finally mumbled, desperately hoping they could just continue walking and ignore it. "It's you."

She immediately stopped in her tracks and looked up at him, dashing all his hopes that she wouldn't dwell on the confession. Her eyebrows were sloped downward, the same way they did when Professor McGonagall corrected her about a spell she thought she knew by heart. Ron shifted his weight uncomfortably, but she just continued to stare up at him. Ron didn't know if he should say something. He couldn't tell whether she wanted to talk or she wanted him to talk. He didn't like either possibility. She'd think he was a pervert if she knew those were the memories he used to conjure the terrier. He caught one last flash of silver out the corner of his eye before it flickered and died. "Look!" He called out then, choosing to ignore the moment that had just passed between them. There was a great stone wall right where his Patronus had disappeared and he quickly marched toward it, eager to leave his words and her reaction behind.

Hermione followed after him and he hoped she'd just leave the confession alone and remember that this sodding wall was the reason they were in this dark wood. The wall was massive and made from interlocking flint and stones layered atop each other. It looked to be at least ten feet high, although it was difficult to see the top as the limbs of the great fir trees surrounding it obscured it from view.

"You think this is it?" Ron walked up and pressed his hands against the stones. "It looks like a wall Krum would build."

"And what does that mean?" Hermione challenged.

"Just that it's big - " Horizontal boards lay between the layers of rock in places and Ron ran his hand down the length of one. "- and cold and grumpy."

"How can a wall be grumpy?" There was laughter mixed with her obvious disapproval of the comment.

"Well, it's not letting us in." Ron took several steps away from the wall, but the further back he went the more the great fir trees seemed to surround it. He still could not make out the top of it and could not catch so much of a glimpse of the chimney he'd thought he'd spotted from the bottom of the mountain. "And I can't see a sodding thing. So yeah, it's grumpy."

"Viktor's not cold and grumpy."

"Well, his fucking wall won't let me see anything," Ron growled. Hermione frowned at his language choice and continued to walk down the massive wall. It seemed to stretch on forever. Ron wondered whether it was magic or whether the estate behind the wall was really that big. Either possibility annoyed him.

Finally, they came to a large wooden door. It was dark heavy wood with no ornamentation aside from an old iron handle. Ron pulled on the handle and nothing happened. He threw all his weight against it and it didn't move. Hermione tried every other spell she knew to unlock it, but the door wouldn't budge.

Fed up with the impossibly long and ridiculously high stone wall and the heavy door that wouldn't move, Ron scrambled up a tree to see if he could get a glimpse over the top of it. He climbed high up the limbs, chuckling at Hermione's pleas to be careful that reminded him far too much of his mum. The limbs of the great spruce tree bent beneath his weight as he attempted to peer over the branches. A weird light-headed feeling took over him as soon as he did and his eyes couldn't focus. His ears felt like they'd been filled with cotton and he could no longer hear Hermione fussing at him on the ground below. Every time he ducked his head to try to look through the limbs of the tree more seemed to get in the way.

"This is definitely it," he informed her as he dropped back onto the ground, huffing and puffing from the exertion of climbing the tree.

"Did you see anything?" Hermione reached out to brush the needles out of his hair and off his shoulders.

"No, but I felt all funny, my eyes couldn't focus. Plus I couldn't hear anything." Ron swept the dirt and bark off his trousers. "It felt like a spell."

"Well, that's…that's good." Hermione tried to be hopeful. "We're here. This is right."

"Yeah, this is definitely Krum's," Ron agreed.

"So we just wait," Hermione stated simply as they looked around the dark forest tentatively. He could sense she felt just as unnerved at the thought of staying there underneath the dense canopy of trees, but he had nothing else to offer. So he slumped against the rough stone wall and he waited for Viktor Krum to show up.

He didn't like being lost. He didn't like riding Muggle trains. He didn't like being in a foreign city. He didn't like being surrounded by Muggles. He didn't like this dark forest, he didn't like this magic wall, and he didn't like the fact that they were waiting around for Viktor Krum. But he liked that they were doing something.

In the days at the Burrow, he felt like all he'd done was wait. Life was supposed to start anew with Voldemort gone, that's what people had said that night of celebration up in Gryffindor tower. But if life at the Burrow was what life after the war was, Ron wanted no part of it. It was all painful reminders of his brother at every turn and every conversation. Life last week was all guilt and horrible reminders that his family would be forever incomplete. He traveled from his bedroom to the kitchen and back up to his bedroom and that had been his life.

Now that they were moving, creeping eastward across the continent, Ron finally felt his life moving again. He'd been on hold for a while now, not just the past week, but all year. Their mission and promise to Harry had put everything else in his life on hold, but now he was moving again. The further they traveled, the better things felt. They were sharing things now, him and Hermione, things real couples did. Not just snogging and holding hands. They had fallen asleep and woken up and brushed their teeth together. They'd gotten dressed for the day in each other's company without too much blushing and only a simple request to turn around when it had come time to change her knickers. They'd navigated two foreign cities and five different rail stations together. They'd taken trains and taxis and hiked halfway up a mountain side together and Ron felt like his life was moving again.

Hermione rested with her head in his lap now, the rest of her body sprawled out across the forest floor, and he combed his hands tenderly through her hair. It was the first time he'd done anything like it, weaved his long fingers through the mass of hair like a brush, and she seemed to delight in the intimate action. Her lips even curled into a smile as the sun grew higher in the sky and finally began peeking through the trees. As they entered what he realised was day three with just the two of them, he came to the terrible realisation that part of him never actually wanted to get to Australia.

This world, where only the two of them existed, was quite wonderful. This world where they tasted and flirted and touched and there was no one there to interrupt or tell them there were more important things to worry about.

Waiting outside the massive walls that guarded Krum's house should have been maddening. They didn't have any idea how long they'd be waiting or even if they were in the right place, though Ron was quite sure whatever lay behind the wall had to be protected by magic. Even if they were in the right location, it meant their saviour would be none other than Viktor Krum, whose presence Ron had barely been able to stomach at his brother's wedding. Waiting around for Krum should have been a bore, but Ron found, after the Dijon rail station and the sleeper car and everything else after and in between, that he didn't mind waiting so much. Things happened when they waited, if he was patient.

She was rambling about Sofia, blurting out random facts of trivia that Ron, recalling the vow he'd made about making her smile on the train to Belgrade, pretended to enjoy. After an hour of waiting they pulled out what was left of their bag of crisps and Ron had learned that the mountain they were on was called Vitosha and the park here was the oldest in the Balkans. After two hours, she informed him there were both bears and wolves in these mountains and he consequently made sure his wand was readily accessible. He learned that there was a cathedral in Sofia that was older than Hogwarts and had once hosted the Warlock's Council. The more she rambled, the more he wondered if this is what a seventh year at Hogwarts would be like, cuddling like this while Hermione told him things. By three o'clock, Ron was hungry again, but one ham sandwich later, and there was no still sign of anybody coming or going from the massive door. By five o'clock, they began preparing for a night out under the stars and debating when they should set the tent up in the forest. By six, Hermione was contemplating a dinner of baked beans on toast with what was left of the food his mum had packed.

He should be frustrated. They both should be. But a night camping in a tent suddenly didn't sound too terrible. They were both sitting up against the door, seated side by side now and looking out into the forest of spruce trees whose beauty Ron was finally beginning to appreciate. There were certainly worse places to spend a night, though he could do without the thought of bears and wolves roaming around. They were passing a flask of water back and forth and it reminded Ron very much of how they'd shared the wine in the train compartment to Budapest. Recalling how that night had gone, he couldn't help but wish the water were wine.

"You have to admit, in light of what's happened, bringing Pig would have been good!"

"Right, because you wouldn't have looked out of place walking around Dijon with an owl in your pocket," she laughed at the absurd notion.

"No more than that woman with the dog in the pram!" he reminded Hermione of the ridiculous sight on their way to the Gare de Dijon. "And don't tell me you're not regretting bringing my Cleansweep now."

"We couldn't fly anywhere even if we'd brought it!"

"Just admit that both were good ideas, in light of what's happened."

"Both would have been good ideas if we were traveling in the magical world."

"Just admit that I had a good idea," Ron maintained.

"I tell you when you have good ideas. Those weren't good ideas. Pig would hardly have made it to Paris!"

"You don't give him enough credit."

"Who? You or the bird?" Hermione laughed some more, a light and happy sound he realised he hadn't heard in months. He wanted to move in and kiss her then, but he kept hearing her words about needing time and recalling the way she'd cut last night's kiss short. He was about to ask her about it, about what needing time while also wanting to do 'stuff' meant when they heard the pop.

It was so soft Ron almost thought he had imagined it, but Hermione's head had shot up too. The sound had definitely come from behind them and the thick stone wall that seemed to be protected by magic.

"Did you hear that?" Her eyes were wide and hopeful and she leaped to her feet. Trying to hide his disappointment, Ron was slow to get to do the same. Viktor Krum was the entire reason they were here beneath these trees, after all, it was not just so they could cuddle and flirt and maybe talk about snogging. "Viktor?" she called out tentatively. "Viktor, is that you?" she called a bit louder.

"Krum!" Ron barked through the door as he hammered on it with his fists.

"Viktor, it's Hermione Granger! From Hogwarts! Please, if it's you, answer!" she pleaded. There was a long pause, but they could hear the sound of a twig breaking.

"Hermy-oh-ninny?" Ron thought he'd never been so happy to hear the thick Bulgarian accent from the other side of the wall.

"Yes!" Hermione cried, a bit too enthusiastically for Ron's liking. "Yes, it's me!"

" 'Vot are you doing here?"

"I'm – well, I'm traveling and I need your help."

"You are alone?"

"No, I'm not. Ron Weasley is with me." she explained through the wall. The comment was met with silence. "From Hogwarts."

"But that is all?" His voice sounded after a long pause. Ron couldn't help but think he sounded disappointed.

"Yes. Listen, Viktor, we need your help!" Hermione cried plaintively. There was no response for what felt like minutes, but then Ron heard the thick wooden door open slowly and the sharp angular profile of Viktor Krum appeared from behind it. Ron couldn't help himself from snaking an arm around Hermione's waist possessively at the sight of Krum.

" 'Vy are you here?" he inquired. He still had the stupid little beard and his thick black eyebrows were sloped into a frown.

"We're traveling and we need your help," Hermione confessed. "Please." Ron's hand rested just low enough on her hips to indicate to Krum that their relationship had changed even more since last he'd seen them. The action caused Krum to look grumpier than usual, but he opened up the wooden door to allow them to enter. Hermione broke away from Ron's grasp to pass through the narrow door first. Ron followed closely behind her, looking Krum right in the eye as he did.

"Come inside." The invitation came out much more like an order than a request as Krum motioned to the multi-story house in front of them. It was larger than the Burrow and much older than the houses at the bottom of the hill where the taxi had dropped them off. The first floor was made entirely of stone and had so few windows it looked almost like a fortress. Ron craned his head back to gaze at the second floor. It projected over the bottom floor in an odd fashion, a bit like the additions at the Burrow, but this design looked intentional and was supported by elegantly curved beams of a dark wood. This looked exactly like the kind of place, as much as Ron hated to admit it, that Viktor Krum would live. Ron could see Hermione was impressed by the ancient looking home. He suddenly wished he still had his arm around her waist.

"You vould like something to eat?" Viktor asked immediately upon leading them through the heavy wooden door to his home. The inside of his house from floor to ceiling was made almost entirely of stone with just a few beams of exposed wood. Mostly it was grey and brown though, not unlike the city of Sofia. Still there was something magnificent about the old house, even Ron had to admit it. Perhaps it was the mere fact that Krum had his own home.

"We really just need to talk to you about getting in touch with your Ministry," Hermione spoke anxiously as Ron watched her drink in the sight of his impressive fortress-like home too. It reminded him a bit of the inside of Hogwarts. They passed through a sitting room with a heavy iron chandelier and there were several large portraits on the wall that winked and snored. Though the walls here were a warm sandy color, the carved wooden ceiling and dark furniture made it seem somehow darker. Ron barely had time to look at the metal plates and coat of arms on the wall or the massive fireplace before Krum led them to his kitchen.

Like his family's kitchen at the Burrow, there was a cast iron stove at the heart of the room, a large table, and a scullery off to the side, but the comparison ended there. Instead of small cupboards there were open shelves and a long row of copper pots hanging on the wall. There was a huge grill that looked to be warmed with coals and the walls were covered with dried bunches of red peppers, garlic, and onions on woven rope. There were marble floors and a great wooden ice box double the size of any he'd seen before.

Ron tried not to gape.

"Please, sit," Viktor offered.

"We just need to get in touch with your Ministry." Ron remained standing.

"The Council is closed. I have just come from there," Viktor responded just as shortly as Ron. He turned his attention back to Hermione. "Tell me 'vy you are here, and 'vy you need to see the Council, Hermy-oh-ninny."

"HER-MY-OH-NEE!" Ron thundered suddenly, unable to contain himself. "It's not that difficult to say!"

"Ron!" Hermione looked horrified.

"That is 'vot I said," Krum stated plainly, looking sourly at Ron.

"No, it's not! It's Her - my - oh - nee!"

Viktor frowned at the outburst and just looked to Hermione, his thick black eyebrows sloped into a frown.

"This is true?" he inquired glumly.

"Er, yes," she responded meekly. "That's…how you say my name."

" 'Vy did you not tell me I say it wrong?" He looked suddenly shameful and embarrassed. Ron stood a little taller.

"You were close enough," Hermione dismissed and glared at Ron. "It's really no matter."

"You should have told me I say it wrong," Krum mumbled crossly.

"I think she did," Ron muttered.

Krum sighed and pulled out a heavy chair at the long wooden table then and took a seat. He motioned for both of them to do the same, but neither did.

"You should be careful here, you know?"

"Why is that?" The words sounded too much like a threat for Ron's liking.

"Because people here know you."

"Yes, well, we've already encountered the autograph seekers back in London," he dismissed haughtily.

"No, I am not talking about people vanting autographs." Krum's voice was deadly serious. He motioned again for them both to take a seat. "If you go to the Council you 'vill be recognized. You must be careful."

"You mean there are still supporters of Voldemort around?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Yes," Viktor nodded his head. "There are people here not happy at vot you and Harry Potter have done."

"Unhappy enough to try to kill us?" Hermione inquired nervously. Ron knew she was likely thinking about their encounter in the alleyway after taking the Portkey from London and the voices and shadows that had begun to approach from around the corner.

"Maybe." Viktor nodded his head. He looked very serious again, but Ron couldn't remember if the great grumpy bloke always looked that way. "You 'vill stay here tonight. Tomorrow I vill take you to the Council."

"We don't need you to put us up," Ron replied immediately. The thought of a real bed after the flimsy mattresses in the sleeping car sounded wonderful, but he would not be the houseguest of Viktor Krum. He did not want to owe him a debt of any kind. Every time he looked at his large curved nose and stupid little beard all he could think about was what his kisses with Hermione had been like. He thought he was past all this, but seeing Krum set him on edge and he couldn't help the questions that flooded him. He wondered if she had enjoyed it, how he had initiated it, and if it had been more of a snog. Ginny had said it was a snog.

"You say you are traveling, no? And you must get to the Council? You cannot stay in Sofia on your own. You 'vill stay here," he stated simply again and gave a shrug. Ron couldn't help but think Krum appeared to be looking more to Hermione than to him as he said the words.

"Oh, no, Viktor, we don't want to be a bother," Hermione stated politely.

"Do not be foolish. I have extra rooms 'vere no one is staying," Krum shrugged. "You 'vill stay."

Ron saw Hermione's eyes urging him to simply accept the hospitable gesture and he bit his tongue.

"Now tell me, 'vy are you in Bulgaria and 'vy do you need to see the Council."

Hermione sighed and finally sat down at the long wooden table.

"It's a long story."


	26. Chapter 26

They ate spicy salami and cold soup with cucumbers and garlic while Hermione explained to Krum their predicament and how they needed to get to the next Portkey. Ron thought he'd never endured a meal so awkward in all his life. The food was good and a welcome change from the mustard crisps and ham sandwiches that had gotten them through the past two days, but he wasn't about to compliment Viktor Krum on his cooking skills. Least of all when he'd had to sit there and watch him prepare it for them. Ron was painfully reminded of Hermione's comment days ago regarding his brother Charlie's cooking abilities and how fetching she found it. He suddenly wished she'd allowed him to make her a cheese toasty the other day as Krum presented them next with a savory meat dish. Ron was grateful, at least, that Krum had seemed to have prepared this part of the meal earlier as he had simply pulled out a clay pot and heated up the portions over the coals.

"This is quite good," Hermione remarked pleasantly while Ron did little more than push the meat around the copper frying pan Krum had served it in. "Do you cook often?"

"I am not home often. I have a cook who comes 'vith me."

"You have your own cook?" Ron practically choked on his piece of cabbage.

"Yes, but he is in Varna at my house by the sea."

"You have a second house?"

"Yes, I go there in the summer 'ven the season finishes."

"Aren't you still in season?" Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The International Quidditch Season lasted into the middle of the summer, he knew because it always caused issues with the scheduling of the World Cup.

"I did not play in the International League this year. I played in Bulgaria," he explained, "for Sofia."

"So you were playing Quidditch all year?" Ron remarked smugly. His jealousy over Krum's cooking prowess and his personal chef and his seaside home suddenly vanished.

Krum had done nothing in the battle against Voldemort. Despite the presence of many Voldemort loyalists here in Bulgaria, he had not taken a stand against them. He'd simply played Quidditch.

"Yes." Krum sensed what Ron was getting at and he bristled. "People need something to root for in dark times."

"Right." Ron said nothing further on the matter, feeling a strange sense of having one-upped him.

He'd already made a point to keep his hands on Hermione all night, small touches on the small of her back or shoulder that would have been appreciated by Hermione under any other circumstances. She seemed to sense the possessive way he touched her was more to get a point across than it was a display of affection though. When he slid a hand to her thigh beneath the table, he knew Krum could see it and he again felt a sense of triumph.

"You 'vould like more 'vine?" Krum stood up and walked over to Hermione's chair to pour more of the sweet elf-made wine into her empty goblet. Ron frowned at how she shoved his hand off her leg when Krum approached. "Vot about you, Ron? You 'vould like more or perhaps something stronger?"

"What else do you have?" Ron puffed his chest out, even though Hermione gave him a disapproving look at the mention of spirits.

What Krum had was a clear liquid he called rakia. He said it was a Bulgarian specialty, a fierce plum brandy that he guaranteed would raise Ron's internal temperature several degrees with just one sip. It sounded very much like a challenge to Ron so he accepted. He ignored Hermione's warning glare as Krum pulled out two heavy glasses and poured them both full of the liquid. It was clear, but had bright red flecks dancing around inside of it. Ron steeled himself as he looked to it, wondering if it could possibly be as strong as Krum had promised.

"Nazdrave." Krum raised his glass and poured it back in one quick and fluid motion. Ron followed suit, trying his hardest not to react as the hotness burned down his throat and then worked its way through his insides. He didn't taste anything, no plum or fig or cherry or apricot like Krum had described. Whereas firewhiskey had a pleasant warming sensation, all Ron could feel with this was the uncomfortable sensation that someone had set fire to him from the inside out. Surely, Krum couldn't actually like the taste of this or obtain any immense pleasure from drinking it. His only pleasure was probably in seeing Ron struggle with it.

So Ron ignored the burning from mouth to stomach and slid his empty glass over to Krum.

"Another," he creaked.

"Ron," Hermione warned, her displeasure was obvious, likely recalling the last time he'd gone out drinking and how it had ended.

"Another?" Krum looked impressed.

"Yes." Ron wiped his mouth and prepared himself. Krum made no attempt to disguise his smile as he poured the next glass just as full as the last one. And the next one and the next.

Ron would not back down from the challenge Krum seemed to have issued. Each time Krum looked to him in question after he finished one, he felt a fierce determination not to allow the Bulgarian the satisfaction of doing something better than him. He ignored Hermione's protests and pleas, the tugging on his arm and the hissing warning in his ear that he stop after the fourth glass. Finally, she appealed to Viktor and demanded a tour of the house, putting the drinking contest on hold. Ron wobbled to his feet, doing his best to disguise his level of inebriation. This was far worse than when he'd stumbled out of the pub in Ottery St. Catchpole. He had to walk very slowly just to keep from tottering over.

Hermione set herself apart from him on the tour at first, walking apace with Krum while he showed them the immense garden and the study and the piano room. Ron took hold of her arm as they climbed the stairs and the look she gave him told him the only reason she allowed it to stay there was because she knew he needed it to steady himself. He didn't say a word when Krum showed them the expansive library that had walls full of books from floor to ceiling.

"Oh, I'd love to have my own library one day," Hermione remarked covetously. Ron rolled his eyes as Krum remarked how it was indeed his favourite room in the immense house. He showed them where the toilet was next and lastly pointed them down a corridor where they had their choice of vacant bedrooms. Ron was pleased, despite her obvious annoyance with him, when she informed Krum that they would only need one room.

"You are sure this room is all right for the both of you?" Krum eyed the two of them, but as he seemed to have done all night, spoke only to Hermione. "I have many others so you 'vould not have to share."

"Trust me, this is fine." Ron smirked from his position behind Hermione. They were standing close together, like they were when waiting for the cabs at the train station that morning, and he snaked both his hands around her waist the same way he had done then. They rested well beneath her navel in a manner so intimate he knew Krum could not ignore it. Hermione looked annoyed, but did not shake his arm away. Ron felt a small triumph. Krum could have his bloody library and his second home and his personal chef and his rakia.

He had Hermione.

"I am sorry if I wake you tomorrow. I wake up very early," Krum informed then.

"Me too," Ron fired. Hermione rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time that evening.

"I 'vake up to run the mountain, you see," Krum clarified and Ron thought he saw a challenging glint in his eye.

"Right. Well, maybe I'll join you."

"Please, Ron, you don't run," Hermione laughed dismissively. Ron bristled at her words, but his only obvious reaction was to move his hands lower still around her waist. "Thank you so much for your hospitality." Hermione turned her attention back to Krum, ignoring the southward movement of Ron's hands.

"I am happy to help."

"I don't know what we'd have done without you," Hermione replied gratefully.

"Right then," Ron spoke out suddenly, unable to hear them exchange pleasantries any further. "Good night." He broke away from Hermione to shut the door, which he practically slammed in Krum's face. Hermione whirled around to him as soon as the door closed.

"That was rude!" She punched him in the arm with a tiny fist in response to his curt dismissal. "You don't have to be such an arse to him!" She punched him again. "He is letting us stay the night in his home, might I remind you."

"Yeah, so he can wine and dine you!" Ron snorted dismissively. He wondered if he was slurring his words as much as he thought he was.

"Oh, come off it," Hermione snorted dismissively. "He welcomed us in, no questions asked."

"He welcomed you in," Ron corrected and reached for her.

"Don't be stupid." She brushed him off and walked past him. "You made it pretty obvious we were together."

"Yeah, don't sound so unhappy about it," he called after her.

"There's a difference between letting him know we're together and being all over me." The irritation in her voice was hard for Ron, even in his drunken state, to ignore.

"Don't sound so unhappy about it," he repeated grumpily.

"It was embarrassing, you touching me like that in front of him."

Ron scowled as he turned around and realised the room had not one but two beds and she was putting her belongings next to the one closest to the door.

"I'm sorry my touching you is so revolting," he slurred angrily. The discovery that Krum had the only guest room on the continent with two beds was making him more annoyed by the minute.

"My point is, he already knew we were together."

"Like that'll stop him," he grumbled under his breath, ignoring how lovely the phrase sounded coming from her lips a third time. They were together.

"Now you're being ridiculous," she scoffed.

"Am I?"

"Yes. You're drunk. Just go to bed."

"So I'm supposed to just sit here and watch him pour you wine and chat you up?"

"You're drunk, Ron, and he was not chatting me up!"

"Oh, yes, he was," Ron scoffed. "He didn't say a single thing to me unless it was about his wine or his Quidditch salary or his effing private cook!"

"Well, you didn't say a single thing to him unless it was to try to put him down!" Hermione fired back.

"Oh, come on, the man played Quidditch all year while we were risking our lives," Ron laughed.

"Well, I think he's right! There is something to be said for keeping people's spirits up at a time when the rest of the world is falling apart."

"He played Quidditch all year," Ron repeated with a shake of his head and a laugh.

"Why can't you just be kind to him?" Hermione sighed as she began turning down the bed she had selected.

"Why is it so important to you that I am?" Ron asked from the other side of it.

"Because if I don't hold any resentment toward Lavender after everything you did with her - " Ron could hear the emphasis on everything and he rolled his eyes at the comment and though he was quite sure Hermione could see it, she continued on. " - I don't see why you can't just do the same with Viktor!"

"Because I didn't care about Lavender, I told you that!" Ron exploded. He felt a twinge of shame at the confession, even in this fuzzy state where everything seemed so much simpler, when he thought about poor Lavender, covered in bandages and probably still stuck in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

"And I don't care about Viktor!"

"But he cares about you!" Ron finally blurted out what had eaten away at him for years.

"And Lavender didn't?"

"You were the thing he prized most dearly!" Ron finally released years of frustration. "You said yourself that he told you he had never felt the same way about a person!"

"That was over three years ago."

"And you kept writing to him!"

"So?"

"So I know those kind of feelings just don't go away." Ron pressed his hands to his chest. "I've seen the way he looks at you!"

"But I'm not looking at him, I'm looking at you!" she cried.

"He's still looking at you," Ron insisted, turning his back and slowly walking over to settle things on what, he now realised, would be his bed on the other side of the room. He moved slowly, keeping one hand on the bed to steady himself.

"And so what? Are you saying you don't trust me?" she called after him.

"I don't trust him! Come on, Hermione, the wine, the dinner, the library?" He laughed, turning around to face her once he reached the opposite side of the bed.

"He's being a good host," she defended.

"Yeah, he's a good host who wants to get into your knickers," Ron spat and no sooner had he said it did he know he'd gone too far.

"ENOUGH!" she shrieked so loudly Ron was confident Krum could probably hear it in his suite down the hall. The thought that Krum could hear them fighting made him uncomfortable. "He's going to help us get to Australia. That is all I care about."

"It sure doesn't seem like all you care about," Ron muttered, unable to stop himself. "Oh, Viktor, this soup is delicious! Oh, Viktor, I love your garden! Oh, Viktor, what a beautiful library!" he mimicked. Hermione hurled the pillow in her hand across the room at him.

"You are delusional!" she shrieked.

"And you're naïve!" Ron fired back as he ducked from the pillow. "He's twenty-two years old, Hermione! And a beautiful girl shows up on his doorstep needing help and – oh yeah – it just so happens he used to get off with her!"

"Will you leave it alone already?" She sounded exhausted.

'You sure you do not vant to stay in THIS room? This room that's closest to mine?" he imitated Krum in his best thick and lowly Bulgarian accent.

"You know what? Maybe I will go stay in that room!" Hermione huffed and picked up her beaded bag.

"Fine!" he waved to the door.

"I'll go!" she challenged.

"I won't stop you!" Ron thundered back.

"I'm going!" Hermione shouted the words, but her feet led her toward Ron and not the door.

"Great, maybe Vicky can take you the rest of the way to Australia!" he fired, once again spitting out words he hardly meant. His feet traveled toward her as well, so they now stood face-to-face in the middle of the room. Her head was tilted up to his, her hands on her hips and his hands balled up into fists, in a position they'd so often assumed when squaring off at Hogwarts. The colour in both their cheeks was rising.

"Why are you so jealous?" she thundered.

"Why are you so stubborn?" he thundered back.

And then he was kissing her. Not sweet and slow like the kisses they'd shared back at the Burrow, nor the passionate way they'd come together on the train. This was jealousy and frustration expressed the only way he knew how right now. Tongues dueled for dominance, the same way their words had moments ago. He clutched her face tightly between his hands, practically squeezing her cheeks between them. Her arms raised and fell time and again, as if unsure whether to hold him or not. Then as suddenly as he had come at her, she pursed her lips and wrenched herself away.

"No!" She pushed him hard in the chest with both hands and shoved him back. "You are unbelievable!"

"What?" he remarked dumbly, quite sure she had just been enjoying herself.

"You don't just get to kiss me and make it all go away!"

"I was just trying to get you to be quiet," he admitted with the tiniest attempt of a smile. "Come on, you know you want to kiss me." He tried to move forward and move his arms around her waist, but lost his balance.

"Trust me, I really don't," she lurched backward from him and wrinkled her nose. "You're drunk."

"Come on," Ron laughed and tried to sidle up next to her, but this time she wouldn't even let him near her.

"You don't get it, do you? This isn't funny."

"I just wanted - "

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, you know," she remarked. There was more sadness in her voice than he expected as she turned on her heel and walked back toward the bed closest to the door.

"Doesn't look good on you either," he spat then, knowing he should quit, but somehow unable to stop sparring. "Asking me how far I got with Lavender and what I did with her in the middle of a snog!" He reminded her of their conversation on the train to Budapest.

"That's different. That was real. That actually happened."

"And you're telling me you never snogged Krum?" He was suddenly hurtled back to an angry sixth year conversation with his sister.

"I did," Hermione admitted wearily. Maybe it was the rakia, but Ron felt like somebody was taking a knife to his insides at the confirmation. "No!" she cried as she watched Ron's palms curl into fists. "You don't get to be angry!"

"That bloody oaf," he hissed.

"It takes two people to kiss somebody."

"So you'd rather I be angry with you?"

"I'd rather you not be angry with anyone!" she laughed. "It happened. The same way things happened with you and Lavender."

"So what I told you on the train - that doesn't bother you at all?" How he wished there were a switch to just make him stop talking.

"It's…in the past." The halting words were forced and measured.

"You're telling me that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you've barely let me touch you since?" Ron laughed. "That it doesn't drive you mad thinking about someone else doing those things to me?"

"I told you it was hard to hear," she replied, but Ron could see he might as well have punched her in the gut. "But I also told you I – I knew it was stupid and I just needed time to get over it. And I am – well, I was – I mean, I want to." She looked suddenly sad then. "You know, I really thought after everything we've been through this year…" Her voice drifted away like she was reliving every moment from the last twelve months. "I thought you were over this."

"Over what?" Ron remarked dumbly.

"I can't keep having this conversation with you about Viktor," she sighed. "You have nothing to be jealous of. Either you trust me or you don't."

"I didn't say I didn't trust you," Ron protested. "I said I don't trust him."

"Then you don't trust me," she stated simply.

Ron didn't tell her he thought her logic was off. He groaned and collapsed backwards onto the colourful quilt. Hermione did the same on her bed. For a long time they both just lay back silently on their respective beds. He couldn't believe she thought he didn't trust her. He couldn't understand how she didn't understand his distrust of Krum had nothing to do with her. He lay back and stared at the wood beams on the ceiling. They had started to spin. He wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't trust himself to say anything about Krum that wouldn't make her angrier.

"You know, I haven't thought about him at all since the train," he remarked suddenly in an abrupt change of subject, knowing he didn't need to explain who he was talking about. "Not once until just now."

"That's good," Hermione remarked supportively. He could see out of the corner of his eye that she was looking over at him, but he didn't turn his head. His gaze remained fixated on the dark wood beams that carved up the ceiling of the second story.

"It doesn't feel good," Ron confessed glumly. He hated forgetting about Fred. He'd been so preoccupied all day with trying to figure out where to go and what to do that his dead brother hadn't once crossed his mind. But now he remembered him and all he could do was repeat over in his head that Fred was dead. Dead Fred. He hated how it rhymed and quickly changed his focus back to Hermione and Krum, as unpleasant as it was. "I just - I know he still fancies you. I know he does."

"Whether he does or doesn't has nothing to do with us," Hermione sighed wearily, "why can't you see that?"

"I just don't like thinking about him kissing you," Ron admitted.

"Then don't think about it!" Hermione laughed at the obvious solution.

"I can't…not. It's like all I can see when I look at him."

"You need to move past it. I was fifteen, Ron."

"I can't help it," he remarked again.

"Yes, you can."

"Do you think about it?" he asked quietly, turning his head to her from his position atop the bed.

"What?"

"When you kiss me, do you think about me and Lavender?"

"No," Hermione shrugged. "I mean, I didn't – not until you told me you'd…you know, done more than kiss her."

"So now you do?"

"Now I…I don't know."

"Well, it's why you stopped things, isn't it?" he accused. "It's why you would hardly let me kiss you last night on the train."

"It's part of it."

"So you're being a hypocrite!" he spat, sitting up suddenly and ignoring the dizzy sensation between his temples as he did. "Telling me not to think about it when you do too!"

"I said part of it."

"What's the other part of it?"

"I'm not talking about this with you now when you're drunk," she stated firmly.

"Did you like it?" Ron chose to fix back on her snogging.

"What?"

"When Krum kissed you? Did you like it?"

"Do you want me to lie?" She finally sat up on the bed as well and looked to him as she leaned back on her hands.

"No."

"Yes, of course I did," Hermione admitted without hesitation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. "He was my first kiss." Ron winced at the words, which somehow felt like salt rubbed into an open wound.

"How many times did he kiss you?" he pressed.

"No, I'm not going to do this." She replied firmly. "I cannot keep doing this."

"Do what? I just asked a question," he remarked simply.

"You need to move past this." Her voice was shaky now and had a surprisingly desperate, pleading tone to it that alarmed Ron. He could only recall hearing it once before, when he'd stormed out of the tent so many months ago and left her and Harry. "If I can move past what you did then you can move past a kiss!"

"It's not just a kiss, why can't you see that?" Ron thundered, but Hermione let out a deep and heavy sigh that all too clearly signaled that that was the end of the conversation.

"Can you turn the other way?" Her voice sounding surprisingly cold.

"What?" The random request caught him off guard.

"I want to change into my pyjamas…can you turn the other way, please?" she clarified. There was a sharp edge to her voice that Ron hoped was just an attempt to disguise her nervousness. He thought about the manner she'd changed clothes in the sleeping car this morning and lamented how quickly the comfortable connection and familiarity between them had changed.

"I'll just leave," he sighed and rose to his feet, hardly believing that once again he'd made a mess of things. Stupid Viktor Krum. Ron cursed him as he walked down the long hallway to the toilet. Part of him wished he would cross Krum right now, right here in the hallway. He'd ask him the questions Hermione would never answer like how many times he'd kissed her and what exactly was in all the letters she wrote him. He'd find out whether she let Krum kiss her neck and touch her the same way he did. He'd tell Krum all about their year on the run, about destroying Horcruxes, and battling Death Eaters. He'd tell him how he'd killed a werewolf and defied Voldemort himself. He'd tell him he was being recommended for an Order of Merlin First Class.

He didn't see Krum in the dark hallway, however. So he just brushed his teeth and washed up and when he returned to the room, Hermione was already in bed.

She was turned on her side and had the covers pulled up around her, but her eyes weren't closed and he knew she could see him. She blinked once when he entered the room, but said nothing. Ron walked glumly to his side of the room and sat down on the bed to pull off his trousers. This was not how he'd anticipated the night. After spending last night together, he had hoped perhaps tonight they might share a bed. But things had gone pear-shaped and he reckoned it was all his fault. He heard Hermione stir in her bed across the way and he wondered if she was as affected by the sound of him undressing as he had been that night in the sleeping car.

There was no holding of hands here though and no 'good night'. There was only Ron blowing out the last candle that lit the room and crawling into the bed. He tried to understand how he had he messed things up so badly. He found it hard to believe it was just his jealousy over Krum. Being in this grand house, with its great kitchen and immense stone walls bothered him. Seeing the way Hermione acted with him, even through the foggy goggles that came with four helpings of rakia, bothered him. Enduring another day without kissing her bothered him. The fact that she seemed unable to understand any of that bothered him most of all.

"You're just not the kind of girl a bloke forgets about," he finally confessed, exhaling loudly as he spoke. His words echoed about the inky black room. "Not even after four years."

There was no reply.

Ron rolled over in the darkness and did his best to fall asleep.


	27. Chapter 27

His head was pounding like it had been the morning of Fred's funeral. His muscles ached, and even his eyeballs hurt again. He cursed himself for drinking so much. He couldn't be moving this slowly. They had to go to the Ministry today and hopefully continue on to Australia. His legs were slow to swing to the other side of the bed and when his feet touched the floor he felt a chill pass through him. The stone floor was freezing and he cursed himself for not making a fire before going to sleep.

Only when he looked about the room and saw Hermione's empty bed did the rest of the night begin to return to him. Fuck it all, if he hadn't been an arse and done it again. Ron lowered his head to his hands, as if it would somehow relieve the throbbing in his temples, while he tried to paste together the hazy memories he had of the night. He could remember dinner well enough. He recalled Krum's cold soup and the meat dish he'd eaten out of a copper pan. He remembered the awful Bulgarian spirit he'd insisted on drinking despite Hermione's protestations. Then the night got fuzzy. All he remembered was that it had been bad.

It had been all about Krum. He knew it had. Everything he'd ever felt in his heart about the git had come out of his mouth last night after four glasses of rakia. He'd had a go at Hermione too, about her obvious jealousy of his physical relationship with Lavender and how weird she'd been about getting close to him since learning the truth. Of course, he hadn't even told her the truth. He hadn't told her all she did was toss him off. He hadn't told her it was the same day he learned she was taking McLaggen to Slughorn's party, the same party she was supposed to be going to with him. But he had fucked things up, just like he had now.

How quickly he'd forgotten the internal vow he had made on the train to Belgrade. He had promised to do whatever it took to make her happy and all it took was two hours in Krum's presence and he'd made a mess of things. He hadn't made her cry though. She'd been angry more than she had been sad, which he figured was a good thing. He'd faced angry Hermione many times and had always managed to make it right. He could make this right.

The bed was made up neatly now as if she'd never slept in it. He wondered how early she'd woken up and if she was merely washing up or if she had already gone downstairs in her dressing gown to get warm. Perhaps she was already downstairs with Krum enjoying breakfast. He squinted out into the morning light as he slowly turned from her empty bed and peeled back the curtains. The sun was barely up and most of its rays hadn't even reached Krum's home, tucked in as it was among the trees. He was grateful for that as even the little light that reached into the room made him wince. The more he walked about the room, the more nauseous he felt.

Pulling on a pair of trousers and a clean shirt, he fought against the urge to retch. Slowly, he walked down the wooden stairs to the great room where they'd eaten dinner, suddenly recalling how he'd practically felt up Hermione on these stairs last night right in front of Krum. The night just kept getting worse the more he recalled. He dreaded having to face her.

She was nowhere to be seen when he finally reached the kitchen, but Krum was standing in front of the ice box in a sweat-soaked t-shirt. He looked as if he'd just run up the whole mountain. Ron remembered his bold declaration last night about running the mountain too. Judging by Krum's appearance, he reckoned he wouldn't have made it even halfway. He gave an uncomfortable nod of recognition toward Krum before glancing around the great room again, peering over by the great stone fireplace and into the front hall.

"She is out in the garden," Krum informed.

"Oh. Thanks," he forced out the words.

"You 'vould like some coffee or tea?" He held up a mug in question then. The only time he'd drank coffee before, Ron hadn't been a fan, but George told him it could help sometimes after a night of drinking if there was no Hair of the Dragon. Cursing himself for not bringing his brother's antidote for these terrible after-effects, Ron agreed in the hopes that it would help get rid of his churning stomach and the horrible pounding in his head.

Krum poured a small cup and slid it to him from across the counter. Ron took a sip and did his best not to grimace at the horridly bitter substance. "It 'vakes you up, no?" Krum laughed, which was a sight Ron found quite odd. He didn't think he'd ever seen it before and tried not to choke as he nodded his head. "It is Turkish. Hermy-oh-ninny did not care for it either," Viktor chuckled, then seemed to realize his error as he looked to Ron. "Her. My. Oh. Nee," he repeated slowly until he saw Ron nod in approval. Sounding frustrated with himself, he gave a loud sigh. "It is a difficult name to say."

"It's from Shakespeare," Ron remarked, feeling himself wake up already as he continued to drink the awful substance. He thought it might be better with some cream or sugar, but figured that would make him look weak in front of Krum.

"I am not familiar with Shakespeare," Viktor frowned.

"It's a Muggle author from a long time ago. Hermione says he wrote loads of plays and poems and stuff."

"You know her very well." Krum sounded a bit impressed that he knew Hermione's namesake. Ron just shrugged. "You are friends for a long time?"

"Since we were eleven," Ron admitted and saying the words out loud made him realise Hermione had been a part of his life for nearly half the time he'd been alive.

"And you are…making her happy?" Krum inquired hesitantly then and Ron was alarmed by the personal nature of the question. He was tempted to tell Krum it wasn't his business whether he made Hermione happy or not, but he swallowed the words as they rose in his throat.

"Some of the time," he actually managed a laugh and plopped down onto a stool. Krum seemed to pick up on the defeated nature of Ron's comment. He seemed to sense it likely had something to do with why Hermione had secluded herself out in the garden this morning.

"My falcon has returned," he spoke then in an uncomfortable attempt to break the silence. "So I can send him off 'vith a letter for your parents if you 'vould like."

"Yeah, I reckon we should," Ron scratched his head, wondering what he could possibly say to his parents to explain their situation. "What time should we leave for the Council?"

" 'Ven she comes inside and 'venever you are ready."

"Why were you at the Council yesterday?" Ron inquired, with a hint of suspicion.

"They haff asked me to help negotiate a new act."

"An act about Quidditch?" Ron perked up suddenly.

"Yes. An international transfer agreement about playing in club leagues across the continent," Viktor dismissed nonchalantly as if the matter were boring.

"An international transfer agreement? You mean like you could come over to England and play for Chudley?" Ron's interest was piqued.

"Yes, but why would I play for Chudley?" Viktor scowled.

"Well, they've only won the league twenty times!"

"The English League," Krum scoffed.

"Everyone knows the English league is the best!" Ron fired back. "And if the Cannons just got rid of stupid Gavin Gludgeons and got a Seeker who was worth a Sickle they wouldn't be so terrible! Gorgovitch and Tuckfield are two of the best chasers in the league." Krum looked unconvinced. "You can have the best Chasers in the world, but if you've got a rubbish Seeker it means nothing!"

"It is not just the Seeker," Krum remarked humbly.

"It is! Our house team was rubbish until Harry came along," Ron dismissed. He'd gotten into this argument many a time with Harry, Seamus, Dean, and anybody who cared to argue it with him. "That doesn't mean Angelina and Katie weren't great Chasers and, obviously you need a good Keeper," Ron puffed his chest out slightly. "But at the end of the game it's always the Seeker. You control the game."

"But look at the 'vorld Cup. If I haff no good Chasers, the game is lost. I could not 'vin 'vithout my teammates," Viktor argued.

"No, they can't win without you." Ron insisted, hit with the sudden realization that he was having the same conversation with Krum he'd had many times with Harry. He was having a conversation with Viktor Krum. His gaze drifted out the window to the garden then, where he knew Hermione was somewhere resting.

"You are a Keeper, no?" Krum asked suddenly.

"Huh?" Ron jerked his head away from the window.

"In Quidditch, you are a Keeper?"

"Oh – er – yeah, how do you know?"

"She told me. You helped 'vin the Championship at Hogwarts, no?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I mean I was on the team and we won."

"She said you 'von the Championship,"

"She said that?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"In her letters."

"She wrote about me in her letters?" Ron looked on in surprise.

"Yes, quite a lot." Krum gave a laugh then that seemed to disguise more than a hint of disappointment. Ron let the admission sink in a moment. He stared down into his half-drunk cup of coffee, warming his hands on the sides of the ceramic mug. "So Chudley has 'von the English league twenty times?" Krum changed the conversation abruptly.

"Twenty-one actually, but er - not since 1892," Ron admitted. "Had a bit of a rough stretch."

"You think that is a rough stretch? Dobrich has not won since 1768!" Krum chuckled with laughter. "They have great Seeker, but terrible Keeper and their Chasers cannot keep up."

"Did you – er - have a good season?"

Krum muttered something about playoffs and Ron could see him disguise a scowl behind his coffee mug. Silence resumed between them and again Ron looked out toward the garden. Krum seemed to follow his gaze out the window. "You know - " He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I am not 'vanting…to be 'vith Her – my – oh…" There was a long pause as he seemed to struggle with the last syllable, "-nee."

Ron kept looking out the window, unsure how to react to the honest confession. He had no idea why Krum was trying to have a conversation with him about this. It was bizarre and uncomfortable and he just wanted him to stop. Yet the desire to finally get an answer to the question that had eaten away at him for so long was too much.

"But you were, weren't you?" he mumbled then, his hand in front of his face. "With her, I mean?"

"Yes," Krum readily admitted. "But I 'vas always…" He let out a deep sigh then and scratched his head. "I think I cared much more for her than she cared for me." Ron grunted in reply, unsure what to make of the placating words. "I always thought it seemed her heart 'vos 'vith someone else." Krum turned from the window then and looked at Ron with what Ron could see was, of all things, an amused smile. "Now I am thinking that person 'vas you."

Ron swallowed some more of the terrible Turkish coffee to avoid having to say anything or look at Krum, finding it hard to believe this conversation was even happening.

"She is very strong," Krum offered what almost sounded like words of comfort then. "She does not like to say 'ven she is wrong."

"I'm not sure she's the one who was wrong," Ron sighed, finally looking to him apologetically and hoping he would understand the nature of the remark.

"Oh, you're awake," Hermione's voice suddenly sounded from beside the door to the garden.

"Just talking," Ron replied casually, hoping Hermione could see and hear that they were being civil, that he was no longer insulting Krum or correcting his English. They were simply having a conversation about her. She couldn't know that, of course, and he looked to Krum for help.

"Yes. Ron 'vonts me to come play for Chudley," he replied immediately and Ron felt a rush of affection toward the Quidditch star he hadn't felt since he was fourteen.

"Does he?" Hermione asked quietly, not turning her eyes to Ron.

"He says we should head to the Ministry – the Council rather – quite early," Ron spoke up then.

"Yes, early is better," Krum affirmed.

"Well, then we'd better hurry up," Hermione stated coolly. "We need to get a message to your parents when we get there." She finally looked to Ron.

"Well, uh - Krum said he can - his falcon can leave this morning," Ron stammered, looking back to Krum again for help.

"Yes, he is very fast and can be in London in three days." Krum sounded oddly proud of the bird.

Biting his tongue, Ron didn't bother saying that in three day's time his mum would have alerted the Prophet and called out a search party to track them down if she hadn't already.

"Well, that's great," he replied instead. "That's great. We'll write a letter now and send it off." He looked to Hermione hopefully, but she seemed to ignore him.

"Yes, I do not know if you 'vill be able to at the Council."

"Do you have some parchment?" Hermione posed to Viktor. "I can write the letter. You - " She spoke sharply to Ron. " - Can go get ready."

"I can help," he insisted.

"I'll do it."

"I can write the letter."

"Why don't you just - "

"Hermione, they're my parents, not yours," he grumbled in exasperation and then immediately wished he hadn't said it. The mere mention of the word 'parents' caused her head to jerk up suddenly and she seemed somehow even angrier with him than she had been. "I just – I mean – I can write to them…"

"Fine. You write them," she replied coldly.

"There is someone else if the Council does not let you reach the Ministry," Krum spoke up then, attempting to defuse the tension and talk about who they could appeal to for help. Hermione didn't look at Ron once while they discussed details about traveling to the Council in the city center. Whenever he opened his mouth, Hermione looked annoyed. Even Krum seemed to pick up on the tension and he dismissed himself from his own kitchen as they sat there in silence. Ron had the parchment Krum had given to him stretched out before him, but made no effort to write.

"Did you hear what I said last night?" he mumbled, "after I put out the light?"

"I'm not talking about this here," she stated flatly.

"He's gone to have a shower," Ron protested. "Come on, Hermione, you have to talk to me!"

"Not after the way you acted last night!" she fumed, exiting the kitchen and marching up the stairs. He had hopes that when he saw her, last night would be like a distant memory. She wouldn't remember his jealous comments, groping hands or the accusations he'd hurled at both her and Krum. Parchment and quill still wrenched in his hand, he kept quiet and followed her up the stairs.

"Can we talk about it here?" he requested once they crossed the threshold into the room they'd shared last night.

"Honestly, Ron, I don't know what else there is to talk about." Her shoulders sagged in defeat, the anger suddenly gone from her voice. There was a sad and resigned look on her face that surprised Ron, like she was lamenting the end of something. "We can't move forward if you are still living in the past. And you are clearly still stuck in the past."

"But did you hear what I said last night?" he asked urgently, closing the door behind him as his heart beat erratically beneath his chest. This wasn't just another typical fight with Hermione. The things he'd said and done last night had fucked everything up.

"Yes, I heard it," Hermione replied shortly, looking him in the eye briefly before rifling through her beaded bag for a change of clothes. "I'm really not interested in excuses."

"No, look, Hermione, look at me, please," Ron pleaded, walking over so he was standing in front of her, but her attention remained on the bag and the clothes she was looking for. "I'm not - I'm not trying to make excuses," he stumbled. "I'm just trying to explain - "

"An explanation is an excuse," she fired and returned to rummaging through the bag.

"But it's not - " he tried to protest.

"We don't have time to talk about this. And quite frankly, I'm tired of talking about it," she sighed. "Let me get dressed, you write a letter to your parents, we'll go with Viktor to the Council and see if we can get to Australia and then…"

"Then what?" Ron felt a sinking feeling in his chest like Hermione was giving up on him.

"And then we'll find my parents."

Mum and dad,

Is everything okay back home? Our Portkey to Paris didn't take us to Paris. I don't know where it took us, but we thought there might be people after us so we went to Dijon and then took a train to Bulgaria. We haven't had any problems and are staying with Viktor Krum. He is taking us to the High Council in Bulgaria. We're hoping we can talk to Kingsley and keep going to Australia. I hope you weren't too worried. We're all right.

Ron lifted the quill from the parchment for a moment, looking at all the times he'd written 'we' on the page. He wondered if they were even a 'we' anymore. She seemed so sad before she'd left to have a shower. Signing the words 'we're all right' didn't feel right either. They were so far from all right. Glancing down at his watch, he looked down to the parchment, tempted to write more. Somehow the words on the page didn't seem to capture the magnitude of his problems.

I think I really messed up last night. He stared at the sentence for a long time and then added more. And I don't know how to fix it.

Hearing the door click, he quickly vanished the words off the page and just scribbled both their names at the bottom.

"Ready to send out."

"Good, his falcon's out in the garden." She hardly glanced his way, even though Ron knew she was well aware his eyes were glued to her.

The shower seemed to have washed away the sadness. Now she was just angry. Angry like she had been when he came back and rejoined her and Harry in the Forest of Dean. She didn't talk to him. She avoided looking at him. When she did look at him she cast him a look that was a confusing mixture between resentment and what looked like disappointment.

Krum seemed to sense the heavy air between them. Fortunately, there was not much talking on their journey to the city centre. Krum walked much like Ron had through the streets of Dijon, suspiciously peering around corners and down alleys. His Floo Powder had taken them to a pub that looked quite like the Leaky Cauldron and was located in the city centre. From there, he'd shepherded them down Muggle streets to the exterior of a splendid old cathedral. The cathedral was an enormous building with a great bell tower and great circular domes piled atop each other. It was open to the public and there was already a queue to get inside.

"This looks crowded," Ron whispered, wondering why Krum was taking them sightseeing.

"It is." Krum strode confidently through the doors into the house of worship. Ron's mouth dropped open at the splendor that greeted him inside. It was old inside, very old, with great chandeliers that hung down hundreds of feet from the great domed ceilings covered with murals. The marble floor beneath them was cracked and their footsteps seemed to echo about the massive interior. "Come." Krum marched away from the main altar to a dark alcove where several small votive candles lit up a statue. He grabbed a candle, lit it and placed it carefully on a rough patch of stone in front of the statue. He waited several seconds, crossed himself with his hand and stood up abruptly. Ron wasn't sure whether Krum was actually paying his respects to some Bulgarian saint or getting them entry to the Council. Silently, he led them away into another dark alcove and then another until all the golden grandeur of the main entry was gone. Now there was just darkness and a door before them, quite unlike any other door in the cathedral.

"Push it," Krum ordered to Ron, who looked skeptical.

"This door wasn't here before you lit that candle, was it?" Ron deduced. Krum pushed the door open.

"No, it 'vas not." And they began descending down the stairs. Ron kept expecting lifts to appear at any moment, but they traveled in silence down flight after flight. He could hear Hermione huffing beside him to keep pace with him and Krum.

"You all right?" he inquired softly, but she simply ignored him, took in another deep breath and quickened her steps. "Are we meant to walk all the way down?" Ron inquired crossly, hating the Bulgarian Council already. They'd been walking down the dark narrow staircase for nearly ten minutes already.

"For the visitor entrance, yes."

"And are we going to have walk all the way back up as well?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"It…depends on your visit," Krum mumbled.

"Depends on our visit?"

"Just do not speak," Krum warned.

"Don't speak?"

"Yes. Let me speak," Krum muttered as at last the stairs stopped and they reached a very heavy wooden door. Krum opened the door with a Bulgarian incantation and a flick of his curved hornbeam wand.

The space inside was surprisingly bright, especially compared to the dark stairway they'd spent the last ten minutes walking down. It was a great cavernous room, not quite the size of the Atrium at the Ministry, but the walls were covered in glazed ceramic tiles and painted with the bright red and green of the Bulgarian flag. Pictures of national Quidditch teams and famous wizards, most of whom Ron had no idea about, but whom he was confident Hermione likely did, also covered the walls.

They passed many pairs of curious eyes as Krum led them down the corridor to a chamber where he ushered them to the side and immediately began talking with a man behind a desk. The man seemed amiable enough, smiling when Krum first arrived and even sharing a laugh. Ron quickly heard the tone of the conversation change though. Despite the fact that he could not understand a word Krum said as he barked at the grey-haired man, Ron could tell the conversation had taken a turn for the worse.

"That doesn't sound good," he remarked to Hermione in a futile attempt to lift the heavy and uncomfortable air between them. She said nothing in reply, her jaw set firmly and her eyes looking ahead to where Krum continued to argue for their right to continue traveling. The grey-haired man still smiled on occasion and even gave a few helpless laughs and a shrug of the shoulders, but the tone of the conversation didn't improve.

"What?" Ron asked as soon as Krum turned around to face them. He didn't look too pleased, but then Ron reminded himself Krum always looked like that.

"Since you are not on official Ministry business, they cannot set up a Portkey for you," he explained, sounding rather annoyed.

"Not official Ministry business?" Ron laughed. "Do they know who we are?"

"Yes, Andon says there are even some who are calling you zlatem golyum trio."

"Zlat – um, goal – yum?" Ron attempted to mimic.

"Yes, it means great golden trio," Krum explained. Ron looked behind Krum and saw the man give them a smile and a wave.

"Well, then, shouldn't that mean – shouldn't we be able to- "

"You are just a duo here."

"You mean we'd need Harry," Ron muttered in annoyance and Viktor just nodded.

"Can we contact Harry?" Hermione inquired.

"I am afraid not."

"Can we contact the Ministry?"

"That is Dimitar Danchev who is in charge of intercontinental communications," Krum explained with an unusually grumpy scowl. Ron was cheered slightly that he looked as annoyed with his countrymen as much as Ron and Hermione were. "He – er - does not refer to you as zlatem golyum trio."

"You mean you've got a Death Eater in your Ministry?"

"He is reformed." Ron snorted at the statement, thinking of more than a few so-called reformed Death Eaters who had never truly changed their spots. "But as you are not on Ministry business, he 'vill not help you."

"Would he help Harry?" Ron fired.

"He 'vould have to, yes, but you are not Harry Potter," Viktor pointed out. "He 'vill not let you send a message." He looked oddly determined then and sat down on the bench, lowering his voice to a whisper. "But he cannot stop me from sending one. Tell me 'vot you 'vould like to say and I 'vill send it."

Hermione dictated the message to Viktor, which sounded much more eloquent than the letter Ron had scribbled that morning and sent off with Krum's falcon. After some more angry barking in Bulgarian in an office further down the hall, Dimitar Danchev finally allowed Ron and Hermione to step into his office.

He was a tall man with short dark hair clipped close to his head and piercing blue eyes. He wore dark burgundy robes and an enormous frown as he watched Ron and Hermione walk behind Krum to a brass basin in the middle of the room. Krum unfurled the parchment they'd written outside and quickly added Kingsley's Ministry address to it. Danchev seized a small box off his desk and stoically handed it to Krum. Krum spoke brusquely, took a handful of the powder inside the small tinderbox, sprinkled it into the fire and then dropped the parchment into it.

Ron watched with wide eyes as the basin immediately burst into green flame and then went out again, the parchment gone.

"So it's like Floo Powder?" he remarked curiously.

"Yes, it is the same idea."

"And so he'll write back then?"

"Yes, if he is in his office and gets the message he can write back."

"So until then…?" Ron looked around Danchev's office uncomfortably.

"We wait," Hermione spoke for what felt like the first time all morning. Dimitar Danchev stiffly motioned to an armchair in the corner of the room. Ron waited for Hermione to take the seat, but she remained standing, arms folded across her chest. Ron stared at the empty basin, listening to the gold clock on Danchev's deck tick, waiting for the green flames to reappear. Nobody tried to speak or in any way alleviate the tension. It made last night's awkward dinner look paltry in comparison. Dimitar Danchev tapped his foot impatiently and at one point began barking at Krum and pointing at his watch.

Ron wondered what would happen if Kingsley was not in his office. The thought of waiting here in this office or this Council or this country another day made him sick. When they'd entered Sofia on the 9 AM train yesterday, he hadn't given a second thought to putting his hand on Hermione's hip or wrapping his hand around hers, but he hadn't touched Hermione since last night and any words even spoken in her direction were rebuffed. He was tempted to pull her outside to the corridor so they could just have it out and be done. He ran through all the reactions she might have. He figured she could do one of three things. She could cry, she could yell at him or she could ignore him like she already was. He figured nothing could be worse than the latter.

Before he could think on it any further, the basin burst into green flame. Ron immediately got to his feet and marched over to look back down inside it once the flames went out. There was a square piece of parchment with a Ministry stamp resting at the bottom. He reached inside to fetch it, but Danchev spoke sharply from the corner. Though he couldn't understand what Danchev was saying, Ron stayed his hand, waiting instead for Krum. He was surprised when Krum handed him the parchment first, an action which only seemed to further irritate Hermione.

Reluctantly, she stepped forward and peered over his shoulder as he opened it up.

Ron and Hermione,

Thank you for making contact with me! Molly has been beside herself with worry as has poor Archibald Darling. I offer my apologies on behalf of the Ministry for the trouble you encountered. Rest assured, there was no foul play involved with your Portkey. Mr. Darling reported to my office immediately after you departed, informing me that he had mistakenly directed you to the Portkey to Nantes. It was his first day back on the job and apparently the bellicosity of Mr. Weasley unnerved him. We tried to locate you as soon as we were made aware of the error, but you were nowhere to be found in Nantes. Things here are slowly returning to normal. Though several Death Eaters have been brought in, Theodore Nott's murderers have still not been found. As such, you acted accordingly and did the right thing in diverting your course. I am glad to hear the Bulgarian Council has been helpful in assisting you and I will pass your note along to your mother and father. Please let me know what your travel plans are and if I may be of any further assistance. Again, I apologise for the mishap.

Please continue to take the necessary precautions and stay in touch,

~ Kingsley Shacklebolt  
Minister of Magic

They were both silent.

Ron read the words through a second time, trying to process what it meant. Archibald Darling hadn't done a thing. Their Portkey wasn't sabotaged. It had all been a mistake. They weren't being followed. They had simply been told to take the wrong Portkey. If they had just taken the Portkey back to London, they would have been in Australia three days ago.

Hermione said nothing, just continued to stare into the empty basin as well. She'd messed up. She'd reacted without thinking. He knew she was thinking it, the same way he was. They both had thought the worst.

"It was just a mistake." Her voice was high and breathy like he knew it got when she was upset. He wanted to tell her it was okay, that he had been just as nervous and afraid. He wanted to remind her that for hours afterward he'd seen every passerby on the street as a threat and that he'd hardly relinquished his wand. But he remained silent, staring into the basin the same way she was. The realisation last night on the train was sharper and more painful than ever. They both were so far from normal.

"This is good thing, no?" Krum replied unsurely, clearly seeing both their muted reactions. Ron was suddenly reminded that they were still in Dimitar Danchev's office and they still had to figure out how to leave Bulgaria. As if reading his mind, Krum spoke to Danchev once more, then ushered them out of the room while he disappeared behind another door to work out their traveling needs. They sat on the bench in silence, both clearly still thinking about Kingsley's note. He wondered what she'd do if he put his hand on her thigh or even her shoulder. He wanted to do something to let her know it was all right, that he thought there were people after them too and he didn't blame her for taking them to Dijon. He'd liked Dijon. He'd liked the trains and the closeness they'd shared. He'd liked the first few hours in Sofia, everything until he'd seen Viktor Krum and forgotten everything he'd promised himself.

"So you have missed the Portkey to Ufa and Novosobirsk and it 'vould take days to set up another with the Ministry in Russia. I tried to negotiate an agreement, but it is a difficult time to be setting up Portkeys internationally."

"Why?" Ron inquired flatly. Hermione was still silent, still wearing the same troubled expression she had upon first reading Kingsley's letter.

"They are transporting many prisoners."

"Well, we're not prisoners!"

"So here is 'vot I can do," Krum ignored the rise in Ron's voice. "I 'vill travel 'vith you by Floo Network to my home in Varna," Viktor explained. "There is a permanent Portkey there that 'vill take you to Turkey. There you 'vill take another and continue onto India 'vere you can pick up the Portkey you had already planned in Phuket and end, as you planned, in Australia."

"You worked all that out just now?" Ron raised his eyebrows.

"I 'vorked out nothing," Viktor shrugged dismissively. "They are Portkeys that are already in place. I am just looking at schedules." Ron remained quiet as Krum explained everything in further detail, even the part where he insisted he travel with them to the first Portkey in Turkey.

"You 'vill haff an escort to accompany you in Turkey. This is not something I haff arranged - " Krum noted Ron's protesting expression " - but is something the Turkish Council 'vonts to provide you. The Indian Ministry as 'vell."

"Thank you," Hermione replied appreciatively. Ron couldn't help but think she looked much too pleased by the news that they wouldn't be alone for the next few legs of their journey. He felt a part of him sink. It was like she was pulling away from him every second that ticked by.

Krum seemed to pick up on the uncomfortable air between them and said little as he led them out of the Ministry. Ron had apparently done a fair job staying quiet at the Council and they did not have to climb the fifty flights of stairs and instead were able to use the Floo Network to take them back to the pub in the city centre.

Ron was desperate to lift the tension. He was desperate to get Hermione to say something.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Ron looked to Krum hopefully as he looked about the pub. "As a – er – thank you for – for - "

"We have to hurry up and keep moving, don't we?" Hermione spoke sharply, "the other Portkeys are on a schedule." Krum looked disappointed to have to agree.

They were back on Vitosha Mountain for all of five minutes and then they were in Krum's lavish home in Varna. Ron didn't even have time to take in the grand estate as they just hurried out the door to the streets of Varna where they gathered around an empty container of salad cream to take them to their next destination. The whole thing transpired so quickly. One minute they were in a pub in Sofia and the next they were in Turkey where their escort was patiently waiting. He was a bearded Turkish man named Murat, who took his job very seriously and seemed unimpressed that Bulgaria had chosen to put such an important mission in the hands of a Quidditch player. He spoke little English, but seemed able to communicate with Krum.

"He is professional security," Krum informed. "He says he guarded the Muggle Prime Minister this year."

"Why that's like Kingsley!" Ron remarked, impressed that they required such a security detail.

"He 'vill take you to India," Krum assured and he turned to Hermione then. "Take care, Her-my-oh-nee," he bid farewell and kissed her on both cheeks. Ron swallowed the jealousy that instinctively bubbled inside him, reminding him that it was simply custom and politeness. Stiffly, he offered his hand to Krum.

He was tempted to say he didn't know what they'd have done without him, but all he could offer was a simple thank you. He could see, even at those simple words, a flicker of surprise, in Hermione's still dark and stormy eyes.

"Be careful," Krum warned. "Remember there are still many that do not like you."

"We're sure he's not one of them?" Ron looked to Murat cautiously. The serious man had a thick bushy black beard and enormous eyebrows that looked like great black fuzzy caterpillars above his eyes.

"He vill keep you safe," Krum assured. Ron bristled a bit at the comment. He felt a bit like he'd been replaced by this Murat fellow. He didn't need anyone else to protect Hermione. Even if she didn't want him protecting her at the moment, he could do that on his own. Still, he thanked Krum again, and together with Hermione followed after Murat to the next Portkey.

It felt odd to walk and not hold her hand. She walked alongside their detail, trying her best to ignore Ron. Murat said little and walked at such a brisk pace there was thankfully little time for conversation anyway. The next Portkey was an old Muggle newspaper that took the three of them to an unnamed village on the banks of a bright turquoise sea. Tufts of brown grass and small thorny shrubs rose up from the pebbled shoreline. It was a beautiful location and Ron could see even Hermione was impressed. Murat allowed them little time to linger however and ushered them to the next Portkey, the lid of an old rusted rubbish bin.

The lid took them next to a crowded train station where Murat bid them a stoic goodbye and a bright-eyed and enthusiastic young man named Rajiv picked them up. It all happened so quickly, Ron could only imagine what their original travel plans would have felt like. Rajiv was much closer to them in age, much more talkative, and seemed more eager to practice his English with both Ron and Hermione and to tell them everything he knew about where they were. Ron was grateful for the conversation after the last thirty minutes of silence.

They were in a business district in South Mumbai, Rajiv informed, crammed with offices and banks. It was mid-day and Ron found it impossible to believe that this was the city when it wasn't so crowded. Apparently, if they had arrived just four hours before they would have been witness to millions of workers alighting at the train station to get to their offices. As it was, there already seemed to be millions of people waiting to get on the trains and Ron was anxious to leave the crowds behind. It was just as busy outside however and Ron's first instinct was to reach for Hermione's hand, but she stayed abreast with Rajiv.

Palm trees, damp Indian air and - Ron was relieved to see - some signs in English, greeted them outside. They were in a place called Churchgate, full of dazzling old buildings built like none he had ever seen before right next to skyscrapers like those in London. It was busy and bright and surprisingly green and tropical.

They were in India. Ron looked around with wide eyes, hardly believing that ten minutes ago they had bid goodbye to Viktor Krum. He reckoned he was the only Weasley to ever go to India. He reckoned this was probably the only time he'd ever be here. Hermione was still obviously choosing to ignore him and they had two more Portkeys yet before they even reached Phuket, but he was determined to enjoy this.

"Hey, look at that!" Ron pointed eagerly to a great clock tower that dwarfed the palm trees ahead. "It looks like London."

"Rajabai clock tower, yes." Rajiv appeared to enjoy his enthusiasm. "We are headed that way!"

"Raj – a – buy?" Ron attempted.

"Yes."

"Is our Portkey there, then?"

"It is close. The clock tower is on the university campus and we must pass through."

"The university?" Hermione spoke and Ron could see she looked a bit annoyed at how she had been left out of the conversation thus far.

"Yes, the university library is there. This was the original campus."

"The library?" Hermione pushed ahead of Ron, now quite clearly fighting for Rajiv's attention.

"Hermione loves libraries," Ron informed, brushing past her in turn.

"Yes, well, I would take you inside, but I am afraid now we are having only ten minutes to get to the next Portkey." Rajiv looked up at the clock tower and then back to his own watch.

The grounds of the university were beautiful, with fountains and sculptures and old gothic architecture that reminded Ron somehow of London, despite its obvious native style. As soon as they passed what Rajiv explained was the convocation hall they were transported to the world of the train station again. Crowded streets were full of pedestrians and mopeds and cars, great red buses and three-wheeled vehicles. Rajiv led them across the street and down the pavement, which was lined with vendors selling brightly colored cloth and food that smelled delicious.

"We'll not have time to eat, then?" Ron made no attempt to hide his disappointment as he walked briskly with Rajiv.

"I am afraid not." Rajiv seized Hermione's hand as she fell behind him in the crowd. Ron felt no jealousy flare up inside him though. He could quickly see this was just becoming a contest across continents of who would speak first. He was well aware he'd fucked up last night, but he was quite certain she had too, and her behaviour toward him this morning was hardly exemplary. He knew he'd messed things up, but he was also confident ignoring him wouldn't help make it right. They both were in the wrong now, but neither would admit it.

Rajiv pulled them down small side streets where grey buildings were dotted with brightly-colored laundry that hung over the balconies. The scenery in the city changed so much Ron almost wondered if he had missed a Portkey somewhere along the way and they were just being transported to entirely different cities. The dusty residences gave way to dazzling buildings and bright lights, which Rajiv informed them was the city financial center, but then they were back in lush tropical gardens. Ron glanced at his watch, the Rajabai clock tower now far behind them.

They passed a gnarled old tree and a building painted a fantastically bright shade of red and Ron hardly had time to take in any of it. He was so intent on looking around and taking in the sights while also keeping apace with Rajiv and Hermione that he didn't see where he was going and he bumped headlong into another pedestrian.

"Sorry!" Ron reached out apologetically only to see a young Indian woman looking up at him. She was quite pretty, dressed smartly in professional clothes and her dark hair fell around her face in waves.

"I'm sorry," she returned his apology in perfect English, making no effort to shake off his hand on her arm.

"Er, no, I'm sorry," Ron stammered, unsure what to make of the way the pretty young woman, not much older than himself, was looking at him. It reminded him a bit of the way Lavender used to gaze at him across the classroom.

"It's all right. Really." She offered him a small smile and replied again in perfect English. Ron's hand lingered on the friendly young woman. He heard Rajiv call his name then from further down the pavement and when he whirled around he saw Hermione could see the way the woman was looking at him, too.

"Sorry!" he blurted out one last time and then raced after the two of them.

Hermione glared at him as she walked forward and Ron had the strange urge to laugh at the petty jealousy no different from the kind he'd shown Krum. They were the same, the two of them. Their anger, their jealousy, their stubbornness in refusing to admit when they were wrong. He thought about their conversation on the sleeper car the first night, back before things had really gone pear-shaped. Like chalk and cheese, they were, that's what he'd said and she had been reluctant to agree. He wondered if she saw it now, how similar they both really were when it came to things like this, how her jealousy was actually no different from his.

"Just this way," Rajiv directed them through a door into a tiny dark building with no windows. They passed through a narrow corridor to a room where an old witch sat atop a very tall desk. Ron knew she was a witch because the quill in front of her was scratching out words in a giant book without her even touching it and the picture behind her head featured three alchemists walking around a table with a steaming cauldron atop it.

Rajiv conversed with the woman rapidly in a language he couldn't decipher, but whose lyrical sound he decided he liked. The woman nodded her head and opened up the curtain on the other wall with a lazy wave of her wand to reveal shelves upon shelves of junk. There were rusted tin cans and food wrappers, an old wireless and a stack of magazines. The witch looked down into her open book and then motioned to a brightly colored umbrella on the bottom shelf, smiling finally at Ron and Hermione in a way that made Ron wonder if she knew who they were. He thought about Krum's revelation about how some in Bulgaria called them Zlatem Golyum Trio. He found it hard to believe people around the world might recognise his mop of red hair, but if their picture had been in the Daily Prophet it had probably circulated elsewhere.

Rajiv pulled the umbrella off the shelf when his watch indicated their departure time was near and instructed Ron and Hermione to grab hold of it. They were transported within seconds in the rough manner slowly becoming second nature to Ron to a dusty patch of ground surrounded on three sides by walls the same colour as the earth.

"Where are we now?" Ron surprised himself at his ability to land on his feet this time.

"In the center of the country," Rajiv informed. He led them out of the alley, past the sandy-colored walls to what Ron could see was a small village along a barren stretch of road. "Now, we must walk."

At the words, Ron recalled this was always meant to be the longest time between Portkeys. He remembered Percy saying something about an hour walk between the Portkeys in India back at the Burrow. He wondered if they were back on course now and whether that tiny village with its sandy coloured-walls was where they were meant to arrive originally. If they were, it meant Hermione's plan had worked. Her determination to move forward and find Krum, despite its nearly four day detour, had gotten them back on track.

The dusty road they traveled along was lined with green fields full of angular long-eared cattle, who despite the lack of a fence seemed perfectly content to remain in the field. Ron worried for a moment about how out of place they seemed, but he quickly realised Rajiv was speaking to people they passed on the dusty road. He seemed proud as he escorted them along, passing tiny villages that Ron could now see were wizarding villages where many curious pairs of eyes looked at them, smiled and waved.

"Did you lot know about Voldemort then?" Ron interrupted Rajiv as he conversed with an older gentleman, who was looking at Ron and Hermione while he talked.

"We were starting to hear stories," Rajiv informed. "This man says strange people began appearing here, telling them about a Lord of Darkness and all the things he would bring."

"Death Eaters all the way over here?" Ron frowned.

"Is that what you are calling them? Death Eaters?"

"That's what we called them," Ron emphasized the past tense. Rajiv began talking again with the old man.

"Yes, he says these people promised a way to defeat death and attain glory over Jādū-Nahim," Rajiv explained and seeing Ron's confused expression at the foreign term he quickly elaborated. "Muggles, you call them, I believe, people without magic?"

"Yeah, Muggles."

"These people promised these things, he says." The old man continued to jabber on to Rajiv. "They came more and more often, frightening the people because they came even when they were not welcome."

"Were they English? Like us?" Ron asked, now looking at the old man more than Rajiv. He pressed his hand to his chest when he asked the question and the old man seemed to understand.

He shook his head and then said some more words.

"He says not all of them were."

"But some of them were from here?" Rajiv translated for Ron very quickly.

"Ha." the old man nodded his head.

"So there are Death Eaters all over the world," Ron said the words softly to no one in particular, though he knew Hermione could hear them. The old man pointed down the dusty road and spoke very rapidly.

"He says there was a young man in that village who liked what he heard." Rajiv paused in his translation as the man continued. "He says he would disappear sometimes, but the people know he joined them. The Dark Ones, that's what they call them."

"And do they know he's dead? Voldemort, the leader of the Dark Ones?"

"Yes, and he is asking me to thank you. They have not come back, you see. They have not been bothered since and he has read that you have helped to make this happen."

The old man reached out then and grabbed Ron and Hermione's hands.

"This has happened before, see. Madyha Pradesh has one of the largest magical communities in the world. They are untouched, here," Rajiv explained. "They are not bothered by Jādū-Nahim. Everyone you see here is magical." Ron looked out on the stretch of land they'd traversed and the land still ahead with awe. "He says he lived through this once before, long ago when he was a boy, but it was much worse. You have stopped the worst from happening again." The man reached up then and touched Ron's face with his leathery old hands. "He says you are very brave and that you have much love in you." The man touched Hermione's face then. "That that is the only thing to triumph against such darkness."

Ron looked to Hermione unsurely, the mention of love in their hearts after having spent most of the morning ignoring each other seemed funny somehow.

"Right. Thanks," Ron remarked, still trying to make sense of the entire revelation that Death Eaters had come here and the people here believed he had helped stop it. He wondered what the man would do if he ever met Harry. They continued down the road and Rajiv continued to talk more about the quiet villages along the road. One was the home of a champion winged horse rider and the other an apothecary who had invented a cure for Vanishing Sickness. Finally, they entered a village. Rajiv's chest puffed out as he led them to a copper kettle beside an empty fire pit at the center. Ron knew it was a Portkey and he was reluctant to grab hold of it, knowing it would mean leaving this bright vibrant country and the friendly people who lived here. He quite liked India more than any place they'd traveled so far and imagined what it would be like to visit under happier circumstances when he wasn't being ignored by Hermione.

The kettle took them to a tiny strip of white soft sand next to beautiful turquoise water. Ron could see tiny fishing boats and immediately smelled the first catch of the day being unloaded from one.

Thailand. Now they were in Thailand.

"Ron and Her – my - won?" A heavily-accented voice spoke from behind them. Ron and Hermione both spun around, neither one trying to correct the pronunciation.

"Yeah, yeah, that's us!" Ron turned around eagerly to see a wiry old man with a face full of wrinkles and bright brown eyes.

The man placed his palms together in front of his face and bowed toward the two of them.

"I am Chao Nai Thim." He spoke in thick heavily-accented English. "Come with me." The one syllable words seemed to be much easier for him to say. Rajiv cleared his throat and offered them both a brave smile in an attempt to disguise his obvious sadness at having to depart.

"This is where I leave you, I am afraid. Good luck in your journey."

"Thank you." Hermione spoke kindly.

"Yeah, thanks, Rajiv." Ron extended his hand to the young man.

"If you ever come back to India." Rajiv reached into his pocket and handed Ron a piece of paper with his name and address on it.

"Right. Yeah." Ron nodded his head, sad to bid goodbye to the bright young man who had made the last hour and a half with Hermione far less uncomfortable than it could have been. "Thank you."

Rajiv nodded his head and grabbed the kettle that had brought them here. Then he was gone.

"This way." Chao Nao Thim turned around, leading Ron and Hermione away from the beach.

"Can you tell me where on the island are we?" Hermione inquired.

"North." Chao Nao Thim talked as slowly as he walked and Ron found himself hoping they didn't have as far to walk in Thailand as they did in India. "Can you tell me about King – lee?" The elderly gentleman turned the question back on Hermione, smiling so that the wrinkles on his face multiplied. They passed food vendors who looked to be returning home with food baskets slung over their shoulders and several orange-robed monks on the road as they followed after the old man. There was a peace and serenity to this place and its hazy humidity. Life moved at a different pace here, Ron could tell, and he wasn't just referring to the pace at which Chao Nao Thim was moving.

He'd never been to a beach like this with its bright water and palm trees. There were several long-tailed boats moored out in the harbor as they walked by small thatched huts right on the water and Ron began wondering which one belonged to Chao.

Hermione spoke to the old man about Kingsley, about how he was Minister of Magic now and the important role he'd played this year in the war. Ron listened and learned that Kingsley had met the old Thai man twenty years ago on Ministry business in Indonesia. This old man used to be an Auror himself and it made Ron think about getting old and what it would be like to be an ex-Auror, to be old and shriveled and talk about all the incredible things you used to do. He'd get old one day and would probably move just as slow as Chao Nao Thim. All of the awesome things he, Harry, and Hermione had done would be nothing but stories one day, too. It was an odd thing to think about as they walked along.

The longer they walked, the fewer huts there were. Ron noticed they no longer passed anyone on the road. In fact, the road was really not much more than a path now that wound its way through shrimp ponds and palm trees.

Chao's house looked just like all the others they had passed. It was a wood hut with a thatched roof, built just on the edge where the jungle met the sand, but inside it was clearly the size of at least two houses. Ron's eyes immediately ignored the rest of the trappings inside the home and instead fixed on the small dark pool in the corner where he knew they'd be journeying. Ron felt his stomach twist about at the thought of somehow diving into the inky black water.

"Sit," Chao commanded and pointed to two seats by the far window while he began busying himself in the kitchen. Hermione obliged and Ron joined her at the small table for two. The table was beside a window that looked out over the water, which in the evening sun no longer looked so turquoise. The view had instead changed colors and they looked out on a vibrantly pink sunset. Ron looked to the gorgeous view and then back to Hermione. It was a perfect moment, the kind of setting he was quite sure people would pay galleons to go to with their girlfriend.

"Eat." Chao placed a large plate full of various foods in front of them, temporarily diverting Ron's eyes from Hermione. Ron wasn't sure what most of the food was. He could see dumplings and pancakes and cashews, but there were meats he didn't recognize and something that looked like bogeys, but tasted like peanut.

Chao sat across the room in the kitchen, smiling and waving for them to continue eating. Ron wondered what Kingsley had told the old man about them. It would have been a perfect date if Hermione had been speaking to him, or if she'd even look at him. She was oddly determined not to talk first. Her stubbornness would not let her speak, even though he could see she was admiring the view and the odd, but surprisingly delicious cuisine.

"What do you think this is?" Because he couldn't take not speaking to her, Ron held up a narrow strip of meat.

"Squid," Hermione replied shortly. "It's squid." Ron was so grateful for the reply he didn't even remember to be disgusted by the revelation of what he'd just eaten.

"What about this thing here that looks like a bogey?" Ron picked up the slimy substance.

"Jellyfish, maybe." Hermione examined a piece of it on her own plate.

She was talking to him. Her voice was still stern and cold and she still wouldn't look at him, but she was speaking again. Ron's heart soared.

They finished the small amount of food Chao had presented them in silence, mostly because Ron couldn't figure out what else he was supposed to say. He didn't know how to apologise for being jealous. He didn't ever think about it or contemplate why he felt the way he did, he just felt it. She wanted an apology though, he knew she did, bu he wasn't the only one in the wrong. She'd been jealous too, just the same as he was, whether over a simple kiss or something more. So maybe she should be the one to apologise. Maybe they should both apologise. Or maybe neither had to say they were sorry for wanting to be the only people to kiss each other. It was only human, after all. He reckoned it only meant they both cared.

To avoid gazing at her and watching her avert her eyes to the food on her plate, he kept turning to look at the dark pool in the corner that he knew they'd have to jump into soon, which only made him more uncomfortable. It was about the size of his bed at the Burrow and the space around it was tiled and neat, which made it look oddly out of place in the ramshackle hut. The trepidation that had first crept inside him when he learned about sapsoon back at the Burrow returned the longer he looked at it. He squirmed in his seat as he recalled what his dad had told him. He still detested the feeling that accompanied Apparating the normal way. The thought of being squeezed while you were submerged under water, never mind in an inky black pool like the one behind him, twisted his stomach into knots. It was so dark Ron could not even see the bottom of it.

"It is safe," Chao spoke. "You will jump in and it will take you. You relax. You do not worry. It is safe," he assured again.

"We don't have to do anything?"

"You keep wands in hands. That is all."

Hermione stood up from the table first and followed Chao to the pool. She did not appear to have any of his hesitations. She listened intently to Chao as he went over the directions and described where they would arrive and how they must kick to the surface on the other side. Ron was still working up the courage and going over his directions in his head when she jumped into the dark pool without him.

Shouting her name, he leapt in after her with nary a second thought about what lay beneath the dark water. The water was shockingly cold and felt somehow heavier than normal water, like they had jumped into a pool of oil. When he opened up his eyes beneath the water, he could barely see Hermione in the darkness. He got the sudden feeling like they were both being pulled down a giant drain at the bottom. Her eyes were wide, as terrified as his likely were, as the sucking sensation pulled them down further and he reached for her hand. For the first time, she didn't withdraw. She gripped his hand back so tightly it felt like the bones in his hand were breaking as the pressure under the water increased and continued to suck them down. He felt like minutes were dragging by until suddenly he felt the pressure release. He could see light at the surface and finally when he kicked with his legs he was able to swim up to the light. Ron kicked upward furiously, the freezing cold and burning in his lungs momentarily reminding him of an icy pool back in the Forest of Dean.

Hermione was kicking beside him too, her hand still locked around his. He pushed her up toward the light ahead of him and looked around at the dense canopy of green trees as he broke through the surface.

They were in Australia.


	28. Chapter 28

"Going – to – kill - Kinglsey!" Ron cursed between breaths as they struggled toward the edge of the small dark pond hand-in-hand. His spirits were raised slightly by the fact that she was still holding onto his hand as they both coughed and gasped for air. "And my dad!" he wheezed as he helped her to the banks of the pond.

They collapsed onto the ground, chests heaving as their eyes struggled to adjust to the light of the jungle.

"That was quite unpleasant," Hermione stated much more calmly, though he could hear she was as breathless as he was.

"Unpleasant? It was like being flushed down a giant toilet bowl!"

"It got us here," she stated positively. At her words, Ron looked around the dense canopy of leaves above them. It was unlike any forest he had seen before. Most of the trees stretched upward, almost completely obscuring the sky from view, yet the forest still managed to be bright somehow.

"So this is Australia, huh? It's very…green."

"Don't get used to it," Hermione remarked. "This is just the Wet Tropics."

"Are we in a jungle?"

"A rain forest," she clarified. "One of the oldest in the world."

"Blimey, Hermione, is there a place in this world you don't know everything about?" he panted, still slightly out of breath after their ordeal in the water.

"I sent my parents to live here. Of course I would read about the country."

"So your parents have been living in a jungle?"

"No, obviously, they're not in the jungle," she scowled at his comment.

He hated how short she was still being with him. He just wanted her to laugh. He'd always been able to divert her with a compliment or a joke. And because tact was something he'd never really possessed, he just asked her.

"Are you still angry with me?"

"Yes."

"You didn't even let me explain."

"That's because your explanations always turn out to be excuses," she sighed wearily. He was so relieved she was actually talking again he wanted to hug her.

"I just want you to understand why I acted the way I did."

"That would be an excuse, Ron," she replied dismissively and got to her feet. The look of annoyance had returned.

"No, it's not!"

"Look, we have to get out of here and get to Brisbane." She ignored him and began siphoning water off her clothes with her wand.

"Hermione!"

"Come here, I'll dry you off." She offered to do his clothes next, which at least appeared to be a kind gesture, but he took a step away from her.

"Will you stop and listen to me!" He knew his frustration must be evident to her by the rising volume of his voice.

"We have to get to the Ministry office before they close!" she raised her voice as well, the exasperation mounting.

"We're not going anywhere until you listen to me!" Ron maintained as he ran his hands through his wet hair. "I'm not trying to make an excuse. I fucked up, okay?" Ron could tell his angry words were not what she expected. He took in a deep breath and looked her square in the eye, expecting her to look away. Instead, she looked right back at him and it was all the impetus he needed to speak. "I am jealous of Viktor Krum." He said the words slowly and clapped his hands to his chest. "I reckon I'll always be jealous of him." He was surprised how good it felt to say the words aloud. Hermione looked just as surprised that he'd said them because the words silenced her. "It's just all of a sudden we're at his mansion of a house and – and you look gorgeous like always and he's staring at you and pouring you wine and then he had to take out that effing rakia and I'm a jealous bugger and I got pissed and I lost it." He gave a hapless shrug and then collapsed back down onto the jungle floor in a heap. "I'm jealous of him. That's all."

It took a moment, but she slowly lowered her body down to sit next to him on the forest floor. "Why did you say all those things last night then?" she asked quietly. Ron just shrugged his shoulders.

"I dunno."

"Do you really think I prefer Viktor?"

"I dunno. I was off my face."

"But there's truth to what you say when you're - "

"Look, I just - "

"It hurts me, Ron," she interrupted. "You thinking I prefer someone else. It hurts me. It always has." Her words were nearly inaudible and she lifted her eyes to him sadly as she spoke them. The confession was the last thing he expected to hear. Amazed at just how much he was capable of screwing up, Ron struggled for words as he tried to make sense of her confession. He'd never imagined her anger with him was anything but anger. She was cross with him because he was a jealous git. That was all.

"It's just when I see Krum, all I think about is how he got there first," he muttered finally, running his hands through his wet hair again. She opened up her mouth, probably to protest the way he'd referred to her as some kind of prize that Viktor had won, but he didn't let her speak. "Because I wish it hadn't been him. I wish I'd kissed you first. And I wish I'd asked you to the bloody Yule Ball and I wish I had…. the balls to tell you three years ago that you have always been the best thing in my life!" He was so worked up now he didn't even notice how Hermione's face immediately softened at the last confession. For a long time neither said anything.

"He kissed me three times," she informed suddenly. Ron jerked his head up at the answer to the question that had eaten away at him for years. "Once was before the Yule Ball, the other was between the second and third task and then once more before he left." He looked to her curiously, recognition slowly dawning on his face as he realized the intent of her confession. This would be it. After this, they would not have any more conversations about Krum or the nature of his relationship with Hermione. She was giving him this one detail, but that would be all. "I was so nervous the first time I didn't even kiss him back. I was quite frozen really. I probably frightened him," she admitted with a laugh. "The second time he kissed me it was outside the library." Hermione began pulling at the tall grass around their ankles. "And the last time he just kissed me goodbye and told me to write to him." She shrugged. "He kissed me three times and that was it. They weren't anything like the way you kiss me," she admitted with not even the slightest touch of embarrassment.

Ron didn't know how to respond at first. Part of him wanted to laugh. Part of him wanted to interrogate her further about where exactly the kisses had taken place and how long they'd lasted. Still another part wanted to kiss her right now, exactly the way she said Viktor hadn't. But he didn't do any of those things. He just stared at her helplessly, unsure of what to do in this moment after so much had been said. It was his turn now to pull at the tall grass at his feet.

"He just reminds me of how I let you down," Ron admitted awkwardly.

"You don't let me- " she began to protest.

"I do. I always do," Ron stated firmly. "First there was the sodding Yule Ball and everything last year with Lavender and then this winter…" His desertion loomed over them both as he now began shredding the long blades of grass that he'd pulled out. "Just everything."

"We've been through a lot," she stated simply and nodded her head in recognition. "But I like to think that things had to happen the way they did for us to get here. You and me."

Ron blew out a loud sigh, turning her words over in his head. He could trace back the 'what if's' in his life to the moment Harry had come to sit with him on the Hogwarts Express. So many awful things had happened since then. He'd made mistakes that made him cringe to think about. He'd insulted Hermione and almost gotten her killed by a mountain troll when she was twelve, ignored her for weeks over a silly argument about her cat, failed to ask her to the Yule Ball, broken her heart last year after agreeing to go to Slughorn's party together, and then abandoned her this winter. And yet, when Hermione said it, he realised that if he took out all the bad things that had happened it was impossible to say who he'd even be right now. Still, he knew he'd caused her pain. He knew he'd made her cry on more than one occasion. And suddenly, there on the damp jungle floor in the Wet Tropics of Australia, all he wanted to do was apologise for everything.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, finally lifting his head up from the grass to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry I snogged her for four months when I really just wanted to snog you. She was there and she was pretty and she thought I was fit and I just wanted you to think so too. I'm sorry I was such an arse." The apology tumbled out so easily. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I really wanted to go to Slughorn's party with you. I'm sorry I let her toss me off -"

"I – please - " Hermione blanched and held up her hands in protest, but Ron was eager to tell her the truth of it.

"It happened once and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't even mean for it really – she just started and I - "

"I don't need to hear the details." Deep down, Ron reckoned she did despite her protestations so he continued.

"First I wanted her to leave, but then – then I just wanted to make you jealous."

"Make me jealous?" Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the statement.

"Yeah!"

"How would that make me jealous when I never even knew until the other night?"

"Why'd you let McLaggen snog you in the cloakroom?" Ron parried her question.

"I - I don't know," she stammered.

"Because you wanted to make me jealous!" he fired with a knowing laugh. "Even though I'd never know unless you told me, you still wanted to prove that - that somebody wanted you like that. You wanted to know it in your heart, just to yourself that you knew it was true." He pressed his hand to his chest and Hermione looked down shamefully at his knowing words. He knew his analysis was spot on in assuming his motivations with Lavender were the same as hers. So much for the emotional range of a teaspoon. They'd both done it, to themselves and to each other.

"You stopped because you knew it was wrong. I didn't! I fucked up! I'm sorry!" he pressed his hands to his chest. "And I'm sorry I made fun of you that day in Snape's class and I'm sorry I ignored you for months. I hated it! Harry's my mate and he always will be, but you – you - " he stammered over words trying to figure out how to convey what Hermione meant to him and just how terrible last year had been. Instead, more apologies just started to spill forth. "I'm sorry I didn't write more this summer. I'm sorry I insulted your cooking and that I never helped and that I was such a grouchy git. And I'm sorry..." His voice quickly faded away as the pent up apology he'd been holding onto for months, but never able to say properly, finally tumbled out. "I'm sorry for running out on you this winter."

He didn't bother saying you and Harry. He had apologised to Harry already and while he'd blurted out an apology to Hermione once before, he'd never offered an explanation. This wasn't an excuse either. This was about the mistakes he'd made and the mistakes he was desperate to show her he had learned from. He heard no placating words from her. She set her jaw firmly, the way she did when she steeled herself not to cry, his words clearly bringing back memories she wasn't eager to revisit. Seeing how much just the mere mention of his departure had upset her made this all the more difficult.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione." He swallowed and took in a great gulp of air. "It made me see things, the locket, and think things about…about you and me," he admitted what he never had to anyone. "I think it wanted me to give up on us." Her silence continued and Ron knew he would have to say more. "I didn't want to give up. I wanted to believe deep down that it was me you wanted, but…" His voice fell away as he recalled the horrible image of Harry and Hermione embracing. "But it made me see things different. And as soon as I took it off I knew it was wrong, but I still…I could never believe it was me."

There was a long pause. Ron couldn't figure out if he should say anything more. She looked like she wanted to speak, but when she opened her mouth no words sounded. He fidgeted nervously, awaiting her response.

"Who else would it be?" she finally creaked. Ron was silent, but he knew the guilty look in his eyes conveyed it all too well. "It's always been you." She let out a tiny laugh as she said the words then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He laughed too then at his own idiocy in doubting her and for doubting his own heart. He looked at her from his spot across the grass. He desperately wanted to close the gap between them, but he wasn't sure if he should. There was so much he wanted to say and do, but he wasn't sure where they went from here. He wanted to keep apologising, he wanted to tell her he was stupid, he wanted to tell her he had no intentions of ever leaving her side again, that she'd always been the one for him. He wanted to tell her that he was quite certain, as certain as a bloke like him could be, that he was in love with her. In love with her in a way that terrified him because he was confident he could only screw things up from here. She looked like she wanted to move closer to him too. She even licked her lips like she always did right before she moved in to kiss him, but neither said anything. Neither even moved.

I love you, Hermione. It wouldn't be that difficult to say. He'd already said it to her once before, after all. That had been like an over-exaggerated thank you though. This would be different.

Things had changed between them, he knew they had. After everything that had just been said, it wouldn't be like just resetting to that moment in the sleeper car before she'd started asking about Lavender. It wouldn't be like just erasing everything that happened at Krum's. They'd moved forward, yet he had no idea what he was supposed to say or do. "Er - do you reckon we ought to get out of this jungle?" He stammered awkwardly, turning to her. "I think I read somewhere there are spiders in Australia as big as your head."

"Maybe not as big as your head," she chuckled softly, "but I do know there's seventeen poisonous species alone here in the Tropics," she replied.

"Right, let's get out of here," he laughed nervously and scrambled to his feet, horrified by the realisation that if there were seventeen poisonous species of spiders there must be countless more non-poisonous ones lurking about. He turned back around to face her and extended his hand. She hesitated slightly before taking it, smiling shyly when she finally did. He pulled her to her feet effortlessly and was pleased when she immediately laced her fingers between his. He hadn't held her hand properly since the Bulgarian rail station. He gave her hand a squeeze and gave a look to the vibrant colours of the tropics.

"Let's go find your parents."


	29. Chapter 29

The colours in the city of Brisbane were a drastic change from those of the Tropics. The green earthy tones were now replaced by bright silver and blue that reminded Ron of Muggle London. Hermione seemed to have taken care to Apparate them to a secluded place. They stood on a vast expanse of empty concrete next to an odd-looking building tucked in amongst some trees. It had a million corners, no windows, and no obvious doors that Ron could see. Before he could ask about the bizarre structure, a high-pitched shriek sounded from behind them.

"How did you do that? You weren't standing there a moment ago! I swear! It's like you appeared out of nowhere!"

"Blimey, somebody saw us," Ron grumbled in annoyance. He turned to find a startled woman with an armful of books and a frightened expression. With a look of resignation, Hermione immediately pointed her wand at the confused Muggle and cast the familiar charm.

"Confundus."

The silver-haired woman dropped her books to the pavement with a clatter as Hermione's spell took effect. He wondered how many times she'd now had to use that spell. The guilt-ridden look on her face made him hope they would never have to use it again.

"Let me help you with that." Hermione knelt down to assist the flummoxed woman.

"Dear me, thank you."

"I'm so sorry if we startled you." Ron knew Hermione's apology was as much to fix her own conscious as it was to ease the poor woman's fright.

"It's quite all right. Were you trying to go to the library? M'afraid it's closed. I'm just here to drop these off." The women held up the stack of books Hermione had helped her with and then tottered off toward the book drop.

"Of course you brought us to a library." Ron smiled widely and shook his head as they watched the woman depart.

"Yes, but it's closed." Her disappointment was apparent by the scowl on her face as she turned sharply from the library. She was walking briskly, with a clear purpose. "I was really hoping to do a bit of research."

"You already have a whole bag of research, don't you?" Ron reminded, following after wherever she intended to lead them next. "Didn't you find stuff out when you went to the library with Charlie and Ginny?"

"Not much." Ron wondered what 'not much' research meant to Hermione. Despite the fact that it was a foreign city, she seemed to have a solid reckoning of her surroundings and where she wanted to go

They were along the banks of a great river, Ron could see now. The vast Brisbane skyline stretched out before them on the other side. They were standing in a large patch of green, a park by the looks of it with benches and trees that reached up into the evening sky just like the buildings on the other side. He was grateful that Hermione had Apparated them to the tree side. The other side looked busy and chaotic.

He desperately wanted to sit and rest and talk about what they intended to do now that they were finally in Australia. Looking across the river to the great city, knowing the Grangers were out there somewhere, was overwhelming. They'd never actually talked about how they would locate her parents. The benches looked inviting and this park seemed to be the perfect place where they could discuss whatever the plan might be. They didn't even have to talk about the plan. He'd fixed things on the floor of the Tropics and he just wanted to sit and talk and be with her. He was curious how things went from here. Hermione, however, continued to march through the park, past bench after bench, her pace quickening with each stride.

She stopped several times, turning to look behind them and then forward to a bridge they were about to pass beneath. Ron grinned as she scrunched her face up in that wonderfully intense way like when she was studying for a Potions exam, trying to recall antidotes and ingredients. Except now she was studying street signs toward Stanley Place, Grey Street, and Victoria Bridge. Though he had no idea where any of the places were, he was grateful to have signs in English at last. He hardly realised how much he'd missed having signs in a language he could understand after all the French, Bulgarian, Hindi and Thai.

He thought about all the exotic locales they'd been to in just the past twenty-four hours and found himself looking down at Hermione's empty hand. He felt an odd combination of anxiety and excitement as he looked down to it, wondering where they went from here. Their long days at the Burrow where he'd been nervous about each and every kiss seemed ages ago. So much had changed between them on this trip, even just in the last hour. It was a good change, he was confident of that, but it was also slightly terrifying. They were a real couple now. They'd had their first fight and, incredibly enough, emerged stronger from it. He imagined fights in a relationship being much more difficult to solve. This had been easy. This was just being honest. He could do this.

Still, he wondered what their conversation in the Tropics actually meant. He cursed himself for being such a tit and not telling her he loved her then. He knew he did. She probably even knew he did because she was Hermione and she knew everything. After all he'd faced, he didn't understand why the words were such a terrifying thought. He didn't know what made saying them any different from 'I like you, Hermione' or 'you're brilliant, Hermione', or 'you're the only girl I've ever wanted, Hermione'. He could say all those things to her. He practically had on the floor of the Tropics. Hell, he'd offered his life for hers.

It would be so easy to say. Three syllables and that would be it. He had no idea what would happen if he said them though. 'I love you' was the kind of thing you couldn't take back once you said it. There'd be this expectation placed on him if he told her. He'd probably say it and then things would go pear-shaped and then telling her he loved her wouldn't even do any good. It would just make everything harder. Annoyed by his own inaction and cowardice, he did all he could do at the moment, which was to grab hold of her hand as they continued to walk along the river.

"Where are we going?" he asked, weaving his fingers through hers.

"To the Ministry." She looked pleased by the action and Ron could feel her thumb rub the back of his hand.

It felt like she hadn't held his hand like this, in such a comfortable and familiar way, since that morning at Hogwarts. Every time since then, whether it was through the rainy streets of Dijon or navigating past pickpockets in the Sofia train station, their palms had been anxiously pressed together and their knuckles white with fear. But this felt different. Despite the brisk pace she was setting, the gentle caress of her thumb told him they were back.

"You said it closes at sunset, didn't you?" Ron looked to the ever-pinkening clouds and rapidly setting sun.

"We have to let your family know we've arrived. They'll be worried."

At the mention of his mum and dad, Ron felt a pang of guilt about how little he had actually thought about them in the past five days. Hermione was the one constantly reminding him about getting in touch and making contact. He'd hardly given it a second thought. He figured after the last year on the run, his parents wouldn't lose sleep over a little trip to Australia, especially not since they'd made contact with them through Kingsley yesterday.

"What about your parents?" he dared to ask then. "Can the Ministry do anything about helping us find them?"

"From what I understand, they can't really do much in locating Muggles," Hermione admitted quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and looking down the river walk. Her voice grew stronger then. "But we told your parents we'd let them know when we arrived."

"Right," Ron agreed. They were in a race against the sun, he knew so he didn't comment on the brisk pace Hermione was setting. "You're sure it's this way?"

"I'm positive," Hermione affirmed. "Percy gave me excellent directions."

"Yes, but how does Percy know? He's never been to Australia."

"He worked in the Department of International Magic Cooperation. He has contacts from all over the world."

"Oh, like the contact that sent us to the wrong Portkey?"

"Only because you frightened him," Hermione reminded him pointedly. Ron didn't bother having a go about what a twitchy bloke like that was doing working in the Ministry anyway. "Here, take out Percy's directions." She released her hand from his so he could reach into the beaded bag. Ron obliged and began rifling through the crowded bag full of half-eaten bags of crisps, books, and papers. "How am I supposed to find them in here?" he muttered, knowing perfectly well he couldn't just take out his wand and summon the directions. Being in Muggle cities was so inconvenient. "And why've you still got our train tickets?" he laughed as he pulled out their old tickets from Zurich to Budapest.

"Just find the directions!" Ron couldn't help but think she looked flustered by the question. "It's in a red folder right on top with our itinerary."

"We have an itinerary?" he sputtered with laughter, though he knew the revelation shouldn't come as a surprise.

"Find the directions!" she repeated with an exasperated glare. He knew the look well so he silently obeyed, not daring to say anything when he finally discovered the red folder at the bottom of the bag and not on top like she'd said. Inside there were directions, and folded Muggle maps of Paris and Novosobirsk and all the other cities they were originally meant to travel through on their journey. The itinerary she referenced was lying atop all the other papers and Ron couldn't help but sneak a glance at it. The page was titled "Australia" and there was a neatly numbered list. Ron scanned over it quickly:

1) Research at library

2) Contact Weasleys at Ministry

3) Exchange money at bank

4) Find a hotel in the Southbank

5) Locate parents

Ron couldn't help but notice there were no details and nothing else listed beneath step five. Hermione Granger, who always had every meticulous step planned out, had no details about how to actually locate her parents. There were no places to journey and no specific names. He expected pages filled with facts and records on every residential district and dental practice in Brisbane, but there was nothing. Ron stared at the emptiness of the list and a funny feeling came over him. Hermione didn't have a plan, at least not one that she'd written down.

"Did you find them?" she pressed.

"Oh, right." Ron rifled through the papers in the folder until he recognized his older brother's neat and ordered handwriting immediately. "Okay, Percy says the entry-way to the Ministry is located past the Clem Jones Promenade, beyond the Goodwill Bridge, beneath the Pacific Motorway and bounded by the Lower River Terrace on both sides. Merlin, Percy even writes like a prat."

"They're very clear directions," Hermione chided. "That's the Goodwill Bridge up ahead and we're on the Promenade."

"Okay, so his directions say we go under the Pacific bridge, through a door between two columns and down a sewer pipe." Ron read over the directions again. "Down a sewer pipe?"

"Yes, the Ministry offices are under the river."

"Under the river?"

"Yes."

"And we have to go down through the sewers to get there?" Ron wasn't sure why the thought made him so uncomfortable. It could hardly be worse than the entry to the Chamber of Secrets.

"Yes." Hermione's eyes glanced anxiously to the horizon. Ron didn't bother mentioning that most Ministry employees, if they were anything like his father, probably skived off five minutes before sundown to beat the rush home. So they continued walking in silence. The Promenade was still winding along the river, but now the overhanging trees gave way to posh restaurants and night clubs along the bank. Ron thought about the money his mum had stuffed in his hand before he'd left and her request that he take Hermione out to dinner someplace nice. The cozy candlelit tables lit were tucked in amongst the greenery with a perfect view of the river. He felt like a bit of a twat for thinking it was quite a romantic spot. His feet slowed for a moment and he wished Hermione's would too so she might see the perfect dining spot, but her eyes remained focused ahead as she dragged him along.

They passed beneath yet another bridge and left the restaurants and all thought of a romantic dinner behind. This stretch of the river was lined with different kinds of ships. There was a tall ship with sails and a great ironclad Muggle fortress. Ron ogled the Muggle ship that looked very much like some kind of warship, but Hermione didn't even break stride or take note of it.

The sun set, but still they kept walking. Ron said nothing in protest. They were here in Australia and he was holding her hand again. He'd be perfectly content if they just kept walking forever. The pavement had narrowed however and the Muggles they encountered now brushed shoulders and elbows when they passed. Ron was reminded of their walk along the river in Henley days ago. He recalled how on edge he'd been then by every person on the path. He didn't like being out in Muggle cities anymore now than he did then, and their travels the past few days hadn't helped. Krum had confirmed his suspicions that there were still Death Eaters about, after all. His last words along with Kingsley's had in fact been a warning to be careful.

The very in-betweenness of it all made him ill at ease. It was simpler when he knew for a fact there were people out there that still wanted to kill him. Now they existed in this weird state of flux where there might be people still after them, but it also might be perfectly safe. The opposing information made him oddly nostalgic for their year on the run.

"We're close," Hermione commented suddenly. He wasn't sure whether it was the fact that they were nearing their destination or the growing dark that made her suddenly squeeze his hand. "Percy's directions say the main entrance is just here." She left the river and hurried along to a dark underpass labelled the Pacific Motorway. It was wet beneath the bridge with puddles that hadn't dried in the constant shade. Cars passed by and rumbled overhead too and the loud noise made Ron uneasy. Hermione seemed oblivious to the noise. "It should be just between these two pillars here." She pressed her hands against one of two massive cement columns holding up the bridge. "There should be a door. Yes, see, just here!" she bubbled with excitement and pressed her hand against an old rusted door.

"And you're sure we're meant to go into it?" Ron frowned at the door that looked like it hadn't been opened in years.

"Yes, we're meant to go inside. Like I said, River Street is beneath the river and the Ministry offices are down there," she stated matter-of-factly. Ron knew she was tempted to open the door, but she knew as well as he did the Ministry offices had long closed. Despite how quickly they'd travelled, their jaunt along the river had taken nearly a half hour and it was now well past six. She pulled on the door anyway, but it didn't budge. Ron recalled Percy's directions saying something about having to be opened by magic. He saw her hesitantly reach for her wand and then stop herself.

"We'll come back tomorrow morning," he assured, trying to ignore her crestfallen expression. He wasn't sure why getting to the Ministry was so important, but he guessed it had something to do with being able to cross something off their itinerary as they'd failed at the first task.

"You know your mum is worried." She continued to tug on the door while the cars rumbled overhead.

"Krum's bloody pigeon'll get there soon enough." He wondered how far Krum's falcon had managed to get in twenty-four hours. The great raptor had a wingspan nearly as wide as Ron was tall.

"Don't you care to let them know you're safe?"

"They'll know soon enough. Come on." He slid his arm around her waist and gave her a nudge back toward the pavement. Eager to leave the dark wet underpass for the night, he jerked his head in the direction they came. "Let's go back. That stretch along the river it looked...nice," he admitted sheepishly. It looked like a nice place to stop and sit and take in the fact that they'd made it here, even if the library and Ministry had been closed. "We'll come back first thing tomorrow morning," he assured again, rubbing the small of her back with his hand. Now it was his turn to pull her along the pavement. He retraced their steps, pulling her past the tall ship, underneath the bridge, beyond the inviting restaurants back to the warm welcoming lights of the Promenade.

There were benches here where they could take in the sunset and places where they could get some dinner to supplement the odd bits of food Chao Nao Thim had given them. Ron was exhausted by the last twenty-four hours. He'd come close to thinking somewhere along the banks of the Caspian Sea, that he'd lost Hermione. But now they were here, and they'd both said so much. He just wanted to sit with her and take in the fact that they'd arrived.

She seemed surprised when he detoured off the main pavement and pulled her to a stone bench.

"Can you believe we're here?" He collapsed down on the bench like he'd wanted to do the moment they'd arrived. "Can you believe we made it?" He knew the comment could mean so much more than just being on this bench looking out across the city.

"Yes," she replied softly. Her eyes found his in a way that indicated she had picked up on just how much those words could mean. She leaned into his shoulder. "Yes, I knew we would."

Australia.

This place had seemed so far away for so long. When she'd informed him last summer she was planning to send her parents to Australia it had felt like another planet, but now they were here and it was just a city, like London and Dijon, Sofia and Mumbai. He knew they should find a place to stay before it grew dark as he wasn't keen on wandering around a foreign city at night, but they needed this, too; this moment just to sit and relax, to take in the past four days and the fact that they'd made it here.

Ron thought again about the words he was too much of a coward to say and how perfect this moment would be to say them. She was leaning into his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his, clinging to him like she'd done in Dijon while they looked out on the dazzling city lights. They were right there on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted out against him then.

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry." When she repeated the words, louder and slower this time, Ron realised he probably could count on one hand the number of times Hermione had apologised to him. One of them had been just days ago on the train and that hadn't even been about admitting fault, it had been a nervous apology about her own inadequacies and concerns. This was an apology for something more.

"For what?" He had an inkling what she could be referring to, but also knew it could be any number of things.

"For everything," she mumbled, her voice thick with embarrassment.

"Everything's an awful lot to be sorry for." He offered a smile.

"We could have been here days ago if I hadn't taken us to Dijon," she lamented.

"You read Kingsley's note. He said we were right to do it."

"It was so stupid," she bemoaned.

"No, it was smart."

"It was stupid. We could have been here." She shook her head in self-disgust.

"Then I wouldn't have gotten to see Dijon," he reminded her playfully. "Or Turkey. Or Mumbai."

She looked to him as he listed all the places they'd journeyed, but the smile was slow to form on her face.

"It was quite a detour."

"It's like you said just before. We had to... go all those places and...do all that to get to where we are, right?" He thought about her words on the floor of the Tropics, suddenly realizing they related perfectly to the last three days. The detour hadn't been planned and it had certainly messed them around, but it had got them here. It had forced him to talk about why he was jealous and why he had resented Viktor Krum for so long, and they seemed stronger for it. "Granted, I would have enjoyed those places a bit more if you'd been speaking to me for most of it." He managed to laugh at the last twenty-four hours and the silent treatment he'd received.

"I'm sorry." She cast her eyes down shamefully.

"S'alright," Ron admitted. "I was off my face at Krum's. Reckon I deserved some of it."

"No, I don't just mean... how I acted today." She brushed the hair the wind had disturbed back into place. "I mean on the train, asking about – about Lavender." Her voice was so soft now Ron almost had difficulty hearing her. "I suppose I am jealous of her. You're right. It is why... I stopped things." At the mention of 'things' Ron's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing and let her continue. "And it's part of why I was so upset with you last night." Her eyes were fixed on the pavement now and she kicked at a pebble with her shoe. "I do wish you hadn't done what you did, but you're right. There are things that I wish I hadn't done either." She was acknowledging his words about how they'd both done things to each other. Except now it was her turn to speak and acknowledge all the things he'd confessed to her. "I wish it had been you. I wish everything had been you." She didn't have to elaborate. First kisses, first dates, first snogs, she was right there with him. "I just wish – I wish we hadn't wasted so much time." She gave a sad laugh. Though he was relieved to hear the words, Ron wasn't entirely sure he should echo her laughter. What she was saying seemed to directly contradict what she'd said an hour prior, the ones he was trying so hard to embrace about not regretting all his mistakes and cock-ups. "It's just...how were we both that daft?"

"I dunno." Ron chuckled both at the accurate statement and the fact that she'd just called herself daft. "It doesn't matter though, right? Like you said, I mean, we're here."

"Oh, forget what I said!" she sighed in exasperation and finally looked up to him. "I hate that we wasted so much time! And I hate being jealous of her. I hate how it makes me behave."

"But we'll always be jealous." Ron shrugged simply. "I know I always will."

"But - "

"Just say it," Ron suggested then.

"Say what?" Hermione frowned in confusion.

"Say you'll always be jealous of her. It feels good to just say it out loud and admit it and then be done with it."

"But jealousy's not good, Ron!"

"Well, then it's not jealousy. It's just...wishing things had been different," he shrugged. "I will always wish that there wasn't another bloke out there who knows what it's like to kiss you. It's just fact. It's how I feel."

"He didn't kiss me like you did," she confessed and offered a shy smile then, seeming to miss his point completely.

"Yes, you've mentioned that, but please say it again." He beamed upon hearing the admission for the second time that day. She laughed and the light-hearted moment seemed to give her a bit of courage.

"I will always wish you hadn't...done things with Lavender," she admitted after a long pause. Her voice was quiet and she was staring at the ground as she spoke. Her eyes had a glassy sheen to them, but Ron could see her shoulders lift with visible relief at the admission. "I'll always wish we both had just been honest."

Ron attempted to catch her eye and offer a brave smile, trying his best to convey that they were honest now and he reckoned that's all that mattered. His eyes instead found the scar on her neck and the brave smile on his face faded. Regretting first kisses and failed opportunities to date Hermione seemed so trivial in light of all they'd endured this year. He found himself thinking about the awful knife that had made the terrible mark on her neck. He recalled how he'd been forced to throw down his wand and put his hands in the air and stare at her lifeless form and the blade as it dug into her flesh. He thought about Dobby, killed by the very same knife, and pathetic Peter Pettigrew, murdered by his own hand despite Ron's attempts to save him. He thought about the bodies he'd stumbled over in the corridors at Hogwarts, the line of corpses in the Great Hall, and all the people he'd seen die in front of his eyes in the last year.

"There's so much I wish hadn't happened," he murmured then. And just like that, for what felt like the first time in days, he was lost in thought of his shattered incomplete family and his brother in the ground. He swallowed the lump in his throat that hadn't formed since Fred's funeral and Hermione instinctively moved closer to him at the action.

She knew. She always knew.

He wondered how it could be that there was so much he wished hadn't happened and yet so much he was grateful for that had. Like this moment and the warm familiar sense of comfort her touch brought him as she slid her hand to his chest and drew him to her in a hug. The street lamps around them came on and the passerbys on the pavement grew fewer in number. People were having supper, returning to their homes. He knew they should do the same, but he didn't dare move. The longer he sat on the bench with her nestled against him, the more the morbid thoughts slipped from his mind and he could think about the feel of her breasts pressed against his arm and her hand on his chest and her head on his shoulder. The more he thought about her, the more his eyes drank in the sights of Brisbane and the reality of being here .

"It's a really pretty city," he finally spoke, looking out across the river. The odd shapes of the Muggle skyscrapers carved up the little light that remained, creating dark silhouettes against the brilliant pink and orange clouds that streaked across the sky. "I liked those ships down along the river too," he tried for some conversation, embarrassed that he'd temporarily let his own grief overshadow everything else. "That one big one reminded me of the uh – the Durmstrang ship."

"It has a lot of gardens," she remarked. "It's why I thought my parents would like it."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure... I'm sure they did. I mean I'm sure they do – like it, I mean," he stumbled awkwardly like he did whenever she mentioned her parents. It happened so rarely, and every time she did he felt himself get tongue-tied. He reckoned he ought to get used to it now that they were here in Australia.

"I don't really know how to find them," she admitted quietly. Ron was reminded again of the oddly empty five-item itinerary. She looked suddenly somber. "Short of tracking down every dentist in Brisbane that is."

"We'll find them."

"Do you realize how hard it is to find two people in a city of two million?" Hermione laughed at his blanket assurance.

"Yes, but I also know you tracked down a bunch of bloody Horcruxes this year with nothing more than a children's book." The comment managed to bring a chuckle out of her, which pleased him immensely and he wrapped an arm around her. They hadn't had much laughter since the train. This time he gave her a comforting squeeze. "We'll find your parents." He promised the same thing he'd been promising her all year.

Except now it was real. Now they were here. Traveling here with her had seemed like such a far off adventure when he'd first raised the possibility walking down the staircase at Hogwarts ten days ago. Now they were here, sitting on the river bank following his brother's explicit directions and Hermione's agenda. Find the Ministry, find a bank, find a hotel, and find her parents. He wasn't sure how difficult the latter two objectives would be. He quite liked the possibility of finding a hotel and a bed to sleep in that wasn't a cramped train compartment or a room at Viktor Krum's.

She was oddly quiet at his promise about finding her parents, but he ignored it.

"Come on, then." He climbed to his feet slowly. "What was the next thing on our itinerary now that we've found the Ministry?" he sounded cheerfully, pretending he hadn't already seen it. "I reckon food has to be on there somewhere."

She was still on the bench, looking up to him and doing a poor job at disguising her amusement at his mention of food.

"A bank," she informed as Ron reached down and pulled her to her feet. "We need to get to a bank."

"Right then." He held both her hands in his and looked to the beaded bag, knowing there were several Muggle maps stuffed in that folder of hers. "Lead the way."

They were in the South Bank, she informed, a cosmopolitan part of Brisbane full of art galleries, museums, and theatres. Ron saw a giant sign in glowing lights denoting the South Bank Cinema and he suddenly thought about his brother Charlie's words about taking Hermione to the cinema and learning about all the Muggle dating customs. He wondered if they had enough Muggle money to go the cinema tonight. Perhaps that would cheer her up from her suddenly solemn state. He wasn't entirely sure what they were, but something about moving pictures telling a story and surely they could find some story to make her laugh.

The South Bank wasn't as busy as Muggle London, and the road was divided by a strip of bricks and trees in the centre. Trees even lined the sides of the road as well, which gave the city a decidedly green feel that made Ron somehow feel more at home. Still, he gripped Hermione's hand tightly, eager to get off the streets and away from the cars that sped past them.

They passed bistros and bagel shops, and a delicatessen with meats in the window that only served to remind Ron just how hungry he was. They walked by clothes shops including a place that sold nothing but colourful caps, and a surf shop, whose storefront had intrigued Ron. He felt very much like his father as he wandered wide-eyed down the street with Hermione. He was eager to explore all the shops, but he knew they needed to exchange money so he pulled her down a side street as soon as he saw the word "bank". The doors were closed and Hermione's disappointment was obvious. They were 0 for 3 so far on her itinerary.

"That's all right, we'll find another," he attempted to be cheerful again, but the next one they found was closed as well.

"We can just exchange money at the hotel," she murmured. "They'll be a high transaction charge and I wager the markup will be a bit steep, but it'll work."

"Right." Ron didn't have a clue about Muggle exchange rates and mark up, but he could sort out what she was saying. Changing the money at the hotel would not be ideal, but then Ron reminded himself that going to Dijon and taking a thirty-eight hour train ride to Bulgaria hadn't been ideal either. Neither had spending the night at Viktor Krum's and trekking across India. But they had made it to Australia regardless.

"Are you hungry?" He gazed behind the glass window of a restaurant where a family of four was just sitting down to a delicious spaghetti dinner. "You might feel better if you had some food."

"I feel fine," she replied defensively, her eyebrows sloped into a frown at the implication that she somehow wasn't all right.

"I know," Ron replied, "I just meant, you know, it's been a long day."

"We should find a hotel first."

"Right. Does that folder of yours say there's one nearby?" He knew Hermione had to have researched every part of this city. She'd Apparated them from the Tropics straight to a library. She seemed to know the streets without even looking at the map in her hands. He looked to the beaded bag and he saw a smile form on her face at his backhanded compliment. He'd been feeding them to her for years, but she always seemed to ignore them.

"Yes, there should be one up the road," she informed, making no attempt to disguise her smile again. Pleased with himself, Ron led the way down the street even though he didn't have the faintest idea where they were headed. Hermione had to tug him in the other direction. This time he heard the distinct tones of laughter from her. "This way."


	30. Chapter 30

Besides the Leaky Cauldron, he'd only ever stayed in one hotel before and that had been the one the Ministry had paid for when his dad had won the trip to Egypt. He'd never picked one out himself. The South Bank Hotel that Hermione led them to seemed pleasant enough from the exterior, but he wondered if they were they allowed to tramp through the hotel to see the state of the rooms first before agreeing to stay there. It seemed only rational.

"It looks okay, right?" Hermione chewed on her lip uncertainly and looked to Ron for confirmation.

"You know better than me," he shrugged, peering through the glass windows. He could see several large sofas and armchairs and uniformed employees standing about, but that was about all.

"Come on." She led him by the hand through the glass door. There was nobody else in the reception area save the employees, who all turned to stare at the two of them as they entered.

The receptionist had jet black hair tied behind her head and wore thin tortoiseshell glasses. She looked to the pair skeptically as they approached the desk, which made Ron even more uncomfortable. For some reason, he felt like it should be the bloke who got the hotel room so he insisted he would take care of it, even though he'd never done it before in his life.

"Erm - we'd uh – we'd like a room, please," he stated to the young woman, hoping he'd done a decent job disguising his own nerves. Ron wondered if they looked like they'd been to three different continents in the last two days.

"Are you over 18?" the receptionist asked while smacking her gum.

"Yes."

"May I see your identification?"

Ron gave a loud and exasperated sigh as Hermione reached into the beaded bag to present the identification papers Kingsley had given them. The receptionist looked unimpressed by the passports.

"Right. Would you like a smoking or non-smoking room?"

"Er - non-smoking, I'd wager," Ron replied. He'd never heard of a non-smoking room before, but doubted Hermione would want the lingering smell of smoke in their room.

"River view or Park view?"

"River," Ron stated a bit more confidently, knowing she would rather look out at the river.

"And one bed or two?" The receptionist asked routinely.

Ron's mouth dropped open unsurely, struggling how to respond to the question. In the last three nights they'd gone from two beds to one bed then back to two. If he said one he would be assuming things would happen, but if he said two then it would most certainly assure that nothing would. He didn't dare look to Hermione so he just stared back at the receptionist with ever-widening eyes.

"One," Hermione spoke up suddenly. She did her best not to flush when Ron looked to her with his mouth agape.

"And how will you be paying?" The hotel employee looked thoroughly amused.

"Cash." Hermione reached into her beaded bag, ignoring Ron's gobsmacked face. "We'll need to exchange cash."

The tortoiseshelled-receptionist looked suspicious about their form of payment and even more about their lack of bags as she directed them to the lift. It took Ron nearly half the trip up to room 514 to realise what she likely thought of their reasons for getting a hotel room.

She thought they were just using the room to sleep together.

They were going to sleep together, Ron reminded himself, thinking of the one bed Hermione had requested. But the receptionist thought they were really going to sleep together; not the way they had in the sleeper car two nights ago, but the way his whole family thought they already were. He wondered if Hermione realised that the receptionist thought they were going to shag. She had asked for the one bed, after all. She couldn't possibly be that oblivious. Ron felt his palms start to sweat.

Hermione didn't seem at all nervous as she held the key in her hand, which was a bizarre thin piece of plastic that looked nothing like a normal key. The lock was not a normal looking lock either. Somehow a thin piece of plastic that Hermione inserted into the box attached to the front door unlocked it. Ron didn't even want to begin to ask how it worked. He wondered if it had anything to do with electricity and the invisible currents Hermione had taught him about; it seemed more magical than Muggle.

She pushed the door open wide and they both took a step through the door frame and looked about their new home. There was not much to it besides a large bed and a square black television set. Ron's interest was piqued by both, but he hoped his interest in the former wasn't too obvious. It was more than twice the size of his bed back at home, with large fluffy pillows and a thick magenta bedspread.

"I think I'm going to have a shower," Hermione announced, lifting the beaded bag over her shoulder.

"You just showered this morning back at Krum's," he remarked, quite anxious to settle down onto the bed. He felt like it had been ages since he'd kissed her.

"Yes, but that was before we trekked across all of Asia and jumped into the black lagoon."

"Right." Ron laughed at the reference he didn't quite understand, but assumed was about traveling by sapsoon. That was, after all, what had ended her silence. Ron recalled all too vividly that charged moment on the floor of the Tropics. She'd looked like she had wanted to kiss him. She honestly looked like she'd wanted to do more than kiss him, but she had refrained the same way he had. He didn't know where they went from there and neither did she.

"You can practice learning how to work the television." She motioned toward the giant black box in the middle of the room.

"Electricity?" he raised his voice in question and she just smiled.

She disappeared behind the bathroom door with her beaded bag and for a moment Ron's eyes just lingered on the closed door. He'd endured this before- the thought of her disrobing and showering so close to him. That had been in the tent though. Circumstances were different then. He hadn't known then what it was like to kiss her. He hadn't known then just how arousing she could be when she tugged at his hair and whispered his name. He hadn't known what it was like to feel her beneath him, her hips rising to meet his, the heat between their bodies seeming to warm the entire room.

"Are you trying the television?" she called through the door, snapping him back to reality.

"Working on it!" Ron sprang to his feet and began searching for some kind of switch. After feeling every inch of the box, he located a button that said POWER and pushed it. He was pleased to hear the box spring to life. He pushed the other buttons at random, but all that happened was black and white fuzz and a loud roaring noise that quickly overtook the hotel room. Ron continued to hit the button that had caused it, but nothing changed. He swore very loudly and heard Hermione laugh at him from behind the door.

"Try the remote control!" she called out amid her laughter. He could hear the sound of her jeans sliding around her ankles onto the tile floor. Merlin, there was no way he was going to be able to survive this. "It's the black rectangular wand on the table. Press the button that says 'channel'," she instructed.

He settled onto the bed to search for the remote, blowing out a long shaky sigh. Get a grip, Weasley. They'd journeyed across three different continents in the last three days and he'd done little more than hold her hand for most of it. The last four times he had kissed her had ended with her either her pulling away or pushing him away. She couldn't possibly even be thinking about what he was thinking about. They were in Australia. She was thinking about her parents. There was no way she had been imagining what would happen if he stormed into the bathroom right now. She probably didn't ever picture his awkward freckly body naked or think about him in the shower. The last time they'd talked about this she told him she needed time.

She had asked for one bed though.

His brain kept coming back to that. She had confidently told the receptionist that she wanted one single bed for them to share. Ron looked again to the bed then back to the television. Embarrassed that Hermione would think he hadn't been clever enough to work the silly box, he attempted to concentrate on removing the black and white fuzz.

The flat rectangular wand did nothing so he returned to pressing buttons on the boxy television frame itself. First he made the noise get louder, then he managed to make the fuzz go away, but then there was just darkness. Finally, he was able to get a moving picture to appear on the box. Unfortunately, the picture was of two people kissing torridly and removing each other's clothes, which didn't help his situation at all.

Ron pressed any button he could on the flat wand, trying desperately to remove the images. He could only imagine Hermione walking in and thinking he had selected it on purpose. Frantically pressing buttons only resulted in the sound of their smacking lips and heaving breaths growing louder. Finally, the images on the screen changed and the kissing couple disappeared, but he feared they would appear again so he searched around the room, horrified that Hermione would enter the room after her shower and think he was some kind of pervert. Unfortunately, Hermione had taken the beaded bag in with her so he had nothing to occupy himself aside from what was already in the room.

On the small table in the corner, he found a menu describing all kinds of delectable food dishes that his empty stomach would love to order as well as a colourful booklet describing sights to see in Brisbane. He picked up the pamphlets, trying to read anything to distract him. Third largest city in Australia, named after a Scotsman, capital of Queensland, 14 miles from the ocean. The facts and pictures distracted him well enough and he didn't even realise Hermione had finished her shower until she spoke to him.

"The water pressure's not very good, but it's all yours," she announced as she toweled her hair. Ron dared to glance up from where he was sitting at the table across the room. Her wet hair fell down her shoulders in damp tendrils that soaked the simple long-sleeved cotton shirt she wore in places. He didn't know if he'd ever seen her look so attractive before and immediately wondered if she was wearing a bra.

"I found these." He held up the reading materials suddenly, afraid he might otherwise comment and say something stupid, like how beautiful she looked in her jogging bottoms. "I've – er – I've found all kinds of things to do here," he sputtered. "It says there's a beach in the city – right in the middle of it – I reckon we walked right by it tonight - and ferryboat rides and a koala centre," he prattled on and held open the colourful pamphlet to show her the picture of the furry grey creatures. "Ginny told me to bring one back for her."

"You can't steal a koala."

"Disillusionment charm might work on a little one," he offered with a grin. "Also there's a list with all kinds of food. Is that the service to the room you were talking about?"

Hermione nodded her head and smiled, looking pleased that he remembered. Ron watched as she towelled off her hair some more. He had a strange desire to get up and do it for her, but he remained rooted to the uncomfortable chair in the corner.

"Why are you sitting there?" Hermione took note of his far-away position in the corner and laughed.

"Dunno," he mumbled and hoped she couldn't tell he was lying as he scratched his head nervously. He hadn't sat on the bed because it seemed too forward somehow. He figured if she emerged from the bathroom and found him sitting on the bed it would seem as if he were being presumptuous, and after their conversation in the sleeper compartment and the rocky past 24 hours, that was the last thing he wanted. "I reckon you paid for the whole room so…we might as well use the whole room, right?" Ron hoped she realised he was referring to the chair and was not in any way implying that they should use the bed for anything other than sleeping.

"I suppose." She looked to him curiously and his stomach did a somersault as he watched her turn down the bed. His eyes fixed on the crisp white sheets. They were going to sleep in there together. The two of them, Hermione and him, beneath the sheets. "If you tell me what you want to eat, I can order it while you have a wash."

"Right." Ron stood up abruptly and tried not to stare too hard at her. He wondered when turning down a bed had become so alluring. He supposed a cold shower would be exactly what he needed. He ought to just have a wank in the shower and be done with it so he wasn't wound so tight and turned on by everything she did.

"Where are you goingg?" Hermione laughed absurdly as he walked stiffly across the room.

"To have a shower?" he replied unsurely.

"Don't you want something to change into?" She laughed and reached into her beaded bag to pull out his rucksack.

"Right. Yeah. Thanks." Ron returned to take the rucksack from her outstretched hands and shuffled back to the loo.

"You all right?" Hermione looked to him quizzically.

"Fine. Just – a shower'll be good, yeah?" he stammered and then disappeared behind the door. He shut it so hard he worried Hermione might think he was angry. Leaning against the back side of the door, he let out a loud groan. He wasn't going to make it. Two days, three days, however long they'd be in this hotel room together, he would not make it. They should have asked for separate beds. Hell, they should have asked for separate rooms. There was no way he was going to make it through tonight without somehow fucking things up.

"Ron?" Hermione called his name through the door then and he leapt away from it at the sound of her voice. Bloody hell, why wouldn't she leave him alone? "You haven't told me what you want for supper."

"Um…" He tried to recall the menu he'd stared at for ten minutes. All he'd been thinking about for those ten minutes had been Hermione in the shower. "Cheeseburger!" he spat out the first food he could think of. Had there even been a cheeseburger on the menu? Yes, there had. It had all kinds of ridiculous things on it that sounded like the kinds of things his brothers used to make for him and force him to eat. "Yeah, I'll have a cheeseburger."

"Do you want chips?"

"Yeah." He wondered how she was being so cool. She'd clearly thought nothing of the fact that she'd asked for just one bed. Maybe she just expected he'd sleep on the floor or the chair and she'd take the bed.

He cursed himself for being a big enough fool to imagine Hermione would want to do anything with him after little more than a week together, especially since they'd done little but hold hands for most of their trip around the world. It was that damn conversation about Lavender that did it, the one she'd just apologized for. The next day they'd been at Krum's and then she'd been mad at him, or disappointed, or whatever she had said. And now they were here, and all he could think about was the last time they'd really kissed. They'd been alone, completely alone, in the sleeper car. He let the pleasant memories about what had happened on the train fill his thoughts while he tossed one off in the shower.

The weak shower felt more like standing in the rain, but that was all right with Ron. He was hardly washing anyway. He was simply standing there and thinking about Hermione and wondering what she had done in the shower. He wondered if she thought about these things too and if she ever touched herself the way he wanted to touch her. Ron braced his hands up against the shower tile. Merlin's saggy left bollock, what was wrong with him? They were in Australia. She was thinking about her parents. He hadn't been like this back at the Burrow. Well, he had. He'd been thinking about Hermione that way for years, but it had never been like this. All it had taken was those one stupid word from Hermione and he could think of little else.

Once he stepped out of the shower, he took his time pulling on his pyjamas and readying himself to face Hermione. For some reason, all he could think about as he got dressed was their conversation on the train about pyjamas and how intrigued she had sounded when she learned he was just sleeping in boxer shorts. He wondered what she would say if he were to tell her sometimes on warm nights back at the Burrow he went to bed starkers. He reckoned she wouldn't be so intrigued by the flannel trousers he was wearing now.

Ron looked in the mirror at his wet mop of hair. He'd just pulled a vest on over his head and his hair looked a bit like Harry's, sticking up in odd directions. He attempted to towel it off and smooth it down a bit so he didn't look quite so wild when he re-entered the bedroom. He recalled his mum fussing at him back at the Burrow about how long his hair had gotten. Hermione had remarked later that she liked it in this shaggy state, curling about his ears and hanging low on his forehead. Perhaps he'd keep it like this.

Her hair had gotten long as well in the last year, trailing further down her back than he could ever remember. That's the first thing he saw when he finally emerged from the bathroom- the wet tendrils of her hair soaking the back of her shirt. It wasn't nearly as wild when it was wet, but it certainly looked longer than ever. She was seated on the bed with her back to him and a giant map of the city stretched across the bed. There was also a notepad and a giant book of names and numbers, which was larger than their History of Magic textbook, opened up beside her. There didn't appear to be any place for him on the bed so he rifled through his rucksack awkwardly and shuffled toward the table in the corner again.

"I've just…got to find my…" He wracked his brain for something he had packed days ago, but he couldn't remember any of the items in his rucksack. "Jumper." He pulled out a thick woolly sweater. "For tomorrow…in case it gets cold." She either didn't pick up on his blubbering nervousness or was just too engrossed in the maps in front of her because she just nodded her head at his yammering.

"Come sit," she invited, scooting aside papers to make room for him. "I'm making a list of dental practices. After we go to the Ministry, I thought we'd start by going round to the ones on this side of the river."

"Great."

"I thought we could start looking tomorrow."

"Great." Ron wondered what that meant they would do tonight.

"And I ordered dinner. It should be up soon."

"Great." Ron doubted he was capable of saying any other word. "Can I kiss you?" The inquiry burst from him suddenly, as uncouth as anything he'd probably ever said in his life. It felt like a strange request after over a week of kissing her whenever he wanted and rolling around on his bed back at the Burrow, but he felt strange about doing it now.

"What?"

"Can I kiss you?" he asked again, feeling quite embarrassed. He was sure she'd heard him fine the first time.

"You don't have to ask!" she laughed, looking thoroughly amused by the request.

"Well, I just thought…you know, both times when we were on the train –you didn't really want to - and then – well, before that it was back at your house in Henley and you stopped me and – and then when I kissed you last night at Krum's - well, we just haven't really…since then -" he stammered, realising he was making it painfully obvious that he still kept track of each and every time they kissed.

"Yes, well, those were all - I just -" she stammered to try to explain all the other kisses. "Last night I wanted to talk about things," she explained why she'd pursed her lips together mid-kiss and shoved him away.

"And... we talked about things, right?" he inquired uncomfortably.

"Of course we did," she laughed.

"So can I kiss you now?"

"Of course."

Despite her assurance, he was suddenly nervous for some reason and felt very much like he had right before the first time he'd leaned across the bed and kissed her up in his bedroom. He felt like he was going back in time ten days. He knew what to do this time, he tried to remind himself. He knew she liked when he would slide a hand behind her head and weave his fingers into her thick hair. He angled his head toward her and parted his lips, but just as they were about to come into contact with hers she pulled away from him.

That marked five times in a row she'd withdrawn from a kiss. Five. He blew out a loud sigh that made no attempt to disguise his frustration, and withdrew his hands and ran them through his hair. She quickly tried to stammer an explanation.

"Sorry! I just – I – I - "

"What?" Ron frowned at her nervous stumbling.

"Nothing." Hermione took in a deep breath and gave him a tight-lipped smile, which seemed a bit unnatural. "It's nothing."

"You sure?" His voice was a low rumble as he moved his hand back behind her head, tangling it in her wet hair again. There was something much more intimate about the question and the way he was touching her that he knew even Hermione could pick up on. She simply nodded her head, and this time when he moved in to cover her mouth with his she didn't withdraw.

There was a nervous hesitation, a controlled restraint, to the manner in which he kissed her though, like if he dared to get too vigorous then she would know what had been on his mind since the lift. She seemed as equally hesitant, and Ron was reminded of that afternoon after he'd stormed away from the lunch table back at the Burrow. That was the first time they'd really had a proper snog. He'd been so angry with his mum for saying he couldn't go to Australia that he'd run off, and he was embarrassed now when he thought back to his reaction. His poor mum had just wanted to keep him home. This situation was probably the exact thing she'd been nervous about.

"Is this okay?" he asked hesitantly, regressing back to that very afternoon when they'd both asked every few minutes if what they were doing was alright.

"Of course."

"Yeah?"

"Aside from your choice in television," Hermione remarked with a laugh, nodding in the direction of the bloody box Ron hadn't been able to work. The couple that was kissing torridly and undressing each other had returned on the screen and were now rolling around beneath a cotton sheet on a bed much like the one he and Hermione were on.

"I couldn't get that sodding box to work!" Ron explained and he hoped his voice didn't sound as squeaky to her as it did to him.

"A likely story," Hermione teased. Ron laughed, but had to wonder if she really thought he'd chosen the suggestive images on purpose. "You just press the channel button here," she explained kindly and demonstrated so that now what played on the screen was an automobile race and then a man standing on a beach and then two gentleman sitting on opposite sides of a desk.

"I tried that and it didn't work," he maintained, feeling foolish. They laughed for a while then, turning both their bodies to stare at the television and the characters talking on screen. Ron was entertained by the images and the conversation, which was funny, but it felt very much like they were watching it merely to avoid talking. It was like his listening to Neville talk about his Mimbulus Mimbletonia at the end of Sixth Year just to avoid having to look at Harry and Ginny snogging in the corner.

He knew she wanted him to kiss her again. He didn't know how to explain that the reason he was so hesitant is because he felt things change on the Tropics floor. He felt something change between them. He'd confessed how long he'd wanted her, not just hinted at it but really spelled it out, and now he was worried that he was going to eff things up. He was afraid that if he started kissing her things would end up like they had back in Henley or on the train car. He'd end up with a pillow in his lap or worse. Suddenly, he recalled her own hesitation when he'd moved in to kiss her the first time.

"Why did you stop me before?"

"What?"

"Just before when you pulled away," he reminded her. "Why'd you do that?"

"Why? I don't know…I just…I don't know," she stammered. It wasn't like Hermione to be so ineloquent and Ron gave her a look that let her know. "It's nothing."

"It's something," he replied knowingly.

"It's nothing. Really." Ron desperately wanted to press her for answers, but doing so would only make her press him, and he didn't really want to talk about why he was so nervous either so he relented.

"Okay," he conceded, even though he knew something was amiss.

Nevertheless, he leaned over to capture her lips in his again.

This time she yielded to the soft strength of his mouth and moved both her arms up around him. The vest he wore exposed more of his skin than at any time they'd embraced and she could feel his muscled back and the bare skin of his shoulders. She hadn't touched him like this since that first night in the sleeper car, but there was a nervous halting and hesitant quality to the way she moved her hands, like she wasn't entirely sure where to put them all of a sudden. He wanted to move his own hands over them and remind her what they'd been doing the last time they'd done this, but he felt like they were starting all over again. After all their conversations, about Lavender and about Krum, after everything he'd just told her on the floor of the Tropics, this was different somehow. They both weren't wearing much aside from their pyjamas. He wasn't even sure she was wearing a bra, and he reckoned that had something to do with it, but there was more to the hesitation.

"You alright?" he asked warily, noting the oddly controlled way her mouth was still moving. She didn't offer a vocal response, just a nod of the head. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's good," she assured breathlessly. "Just kiss me."

"Okay." Ron nodded his head obediently and his mouth moved over hers with a bit more vigour. He tangled one hand up in her wet hair, angling her head back, and the tender action seemed to encourage her because her jaw pushed against his mouth with increasing force. Her hands gripped him a bit tighter and they began to fall back into the familiar rhythm they'd spent nearly two weeks developing. He couldn't disguise the groan that sounded from his throat at the feel of her hands running over him in an increasingly possessive manner. This was the result of two days without a snog. This was how two days of drunken rows and heartfelt confessions culminated. He slid his hips down the bed and slowly lowered his body so he was lying down, carefully keeping his hand behind her head and guiding her down so she was lying beside him as well.

This was Australia.

They were snogging like they had only twice before now, except this time their behaviour had nothing to do with his grief or a bottle of wine. This was just because they wanted each other. They'd wanted each other for years. They'd waited all this time for each other and now they both knew it. They kissed with an increasing desperation that mimicked the snogging they did in the sleeper car. Except now they had an extra large bed to stretch out on and there literally were no secrets left before them. He'd laid himself bare before her on the Tropics floor. Now he reckoned it was time to lay themselves bare in other ways.

She gasped as he ran one hand up and down her leg, his fingers kneading her thigh suggestively. Boldly, he reached around and squeezed the flesh of her perfect arse. He was grabbing Hermione's arse, not just touching, not just grazing, but grabbing her arse, and fuck if she didn't seem to like it. In fact, her only response was to push even closer to him, increasing the friction between them. His hand slid around her hips then, slipping beneath her shirt, eager to feel more.

Feeling certain he was about to lose all control and chivalrous restraint, especially with her mouth working over his the way it was and her tongue teasing him, he pushed her shirt up her body, bunching it around her chest like a swimming costume. He dragged his mouth away from her and she looked confused for a moment, but then his eyes fixed on the pale expanse of skin he'd just revealed. Without giving it a moment's thought, he slid down the bed and pressed his lips to the smooth skin of her stomach.

It was bold, he knew, but he'd genuinely lost the ability to think about anything besides how much he wanted her. He kissed her again, just above her navel, and this time he moved both of his big hands to either side of her waist. He felt her suck in a breath at the action, and when he kissed her again she shuddered beneath him like she'd just been hit with a shocking hex. He smiled, quite pleased with himself, though a bit unsure what to do next. He reckoned this was just like kissing the skin on her neck so he did the same thing. He could feel her eyes following him while his tongue swirled over the soft skin that he knew no lips or tongue had ever felt before. It was the most sensual thing he'd ever done and he could feel the muscles beneath him jump with every kiss and nip and flick of his tongue.

He wasn't sure what to think when she suddenly grabbed his face in her hands. He thought maybe he'd gone too far south, but when he halted and sat up to look at her, all he saw was her pulling the long-sleeved shirt up over her head.

Fuck, she was getting undressed.

Ron tried not to look so surprised, but he knew his eyes were wide as he stared at the pale pink bra she was wearing. It was different from the one he'd seen on the train and he tried hard not to stare as he looked to her breasts beneath the cups. They sat up on the bed then, he in his vest and she now in just her bra, and he wondered if he was supposed to say or do something. He was mesmerized by the sight of her and what she'd just done.

Tentatively, he reached for her waist first. There were certainly other places he'd rather grab, but he sensed the frailty of the moment. The way the past few days had gone, he knew very well he could either make a right mess of things here or proceed slowly and with caution. So he tried for a kiss, his other hand weaving itself in her hair, still damp from the shower. She reached for him with both hands in reply, her thumbs resting against his jaw and her fingers wrapped around his neck, and they collapsed back to the bed.

This was Australia. This was fucking brilliant.

Their kisses were softer now, not quite so desperate. There was no sharp intake of breath, no nervous hesitation. He was calmer now, not nearly as greedy, but touching her in an almost reverent manner. He felt ridges on her arms and bumps that, without looking, he knew were scar tissue. He realised there was a lot more to this moment than just the fact that she was in her bra. It was the first time in weeks she hadn't bothered covering her arms in front of him. His hand ran across the bandage she'd kept wrapped around her left forearm and he could feel her withdraw from his touch at the action. So he left her arms and wrapped them around her body then, eager for this to continue, revelling in the feel of the small of her back as she edged her body even closer toward his. His hands moved up her back then, over the straps of her bra and she didn't withdraw, not even when he pushed them down her arms so he could touch the bare skin of her shoulder.

He didn't hear the knock at first. When he did take notice of it, he thought it was the television.

"That'll be the food," Hermione informed, but made no effort to get up.

"Can't they just leave it in the corridor?" The words were hot and breathy on her cheek as he traced his way up from her neck back to her mouth. He was desperate for her to stay and for this moment to last. He was comforted only by the fact that she looked no more pleased by the interruption than he had.

"It'll get cold out in the hall."

"It'll get cold?" Ron laughed in disbelief. "Are you a witch or not?"

"I am, but I'm also hungry!" she laughed. "Unless you're telling me that squid and jellyfish filled you up!" She reminded him of their meal back in Thailand and began to wriggle out from beneath him. Only when she grasped his chin between her fingers and gave him the briefest, most fleeting of kisses, did he let her go. There was a promise in the way she kissed him. They would continue this. She wanted to continue this.

"I am really hungry," he admitted finally and relented, allowing her to climb off the bed.

Knotting his fingers behind his head, he watched her pull her shirt back on, smoothing out her clothes and running a hand through her hair like she had back at the Burrow every time they went downstairs to see his family. As if the person delivering the food was going to judge her based on how wrinkled her clothes were and what she might have been doing. Ron peeked through the open door to see who had in fact brought the food up. The idea of food coming straight to their door seemed almost magical. Ron half expected it to be brought by a house elf and he was disappointed to see it delivered by a uniformed member of the hotel staff.

Despite how badly he wanted to continue what they'd started on the bed, his growling stomach took over as soon as he smelled the food. The cheeseburger was enormous and he loved that it came with a side of chips larger than the burger itself, which was saying something as Ron thought he'd need to dislocate his jaw just to eat it. She had ordered a club sandwich that rivalled his burger in size and came with a cucumber salad. They ate it right there on the bed atop the maps of Brisbane and the paper and parchment full of telephone numbers she had already written down.

If not for those very maps, Ron could almost forget the reason they were here in the first place. Everything about being in this hotel room felt like a dream. Hermione laughed at his burger, which was unlike anything he'd ever eaten back in England. It had everything on it but the kitchen sink: pickled beets, a grilled pineapple ring, even an egg fried sunny-side up. She refused to take a bite of the monstrous burger, not even when he insisted it was delicious.

"I wish I'd thought to order dessert," he murmured thoughtfully as he watched an image of chocolate dance across the television screen. "There was a chocolate sponge cake on the dinner menu that looked really good."

"The Lamimgton?"

"Yeah, that was it! With the coconut all around and the raspberry jam in the middle." Ron's mouth watered just thinking about it.

"It's a good thing I ordered it then," Hermione laughed and reached over the edge of the bed, suddenly producing a white paper box that she had apparently hidden.

"You are the best, Hermione! Truly the best!" Ron leaned over the bed to place a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek as he eagerly opened the box and found the coconut encrusted cake inside. "God, I love you."

Fuck.

The words hung in the air for the briefest of moments. He had to say something else, anything else to fill this empty silence.

"And this cake! I love this cake and I haven't even eaten it yet." He clambered for a clean fork, hoping she would somehow forget the declaration.

"Right." She looked thoroughly amused at his excitement over the dessert and not at all annoyed or disappointed at his rush to forget the other words he'd spoken. "Chocolate and jam," she laughed, "two of your favourite things in the world."

Besides you, Ron almost blurted out. He'd take Hermione over chocolate and jam any day of the week. He wondered if she knew that. There was an almost knowing look in her eyes at her last words. He handed her a fork, inviting her chivalrously to take the first bite. She laughed softly to herself and he couldn't figure out whether she was laughing because he was so eager to eat the cake or because he was clearly so eager for her to forget what he'd just said.

He speared a large piece and shoved it into his mouth, wondering why he couldn't have just said thank you. Now he'd gone and blurted it out like an idiot and she clearly wasn't there with him or she would have said it back. She would have said something. He watched her as she carved a small piece of chocolate sponge cake with her fork and delicately brought it to her mouth.

"It's good," she spoke calmly and just like that the words seemed to be forgotten.

She gave him another tutorial about working the television while he finished the cake, emphasizing his need to point the wand at the television. She assured him once he learned to use it that he would love it, but Ron wasn't so sure. He attempted to practice while they ate, but he kept mixing up the buttons that made it louder and the buttons that changed the picture. The picture they'd settled on now was about little furry creatures called Tasmanian Devils that Ron thought were so ill-tempered they ought to be the mascot of Slytherin House. He was intrigued by the products for sale on the television, too.

"So can you buy them through the television, then?" Ron inquired as he lay back and stuffed his face with chips while watching an advertisement. Most of the products for sale seemed to be food. He liked the current advertisement, which was for a delectable looking combination of chocolate biscuits and cream.

"No, you can't buy them through it." Hermione shook her head in amusement. "They just tell you what to buy on the telly."

"Telly," Ron repeated, committing the word to memory. "Well, I want to buy some of those Tim-Tams." His mouth watered just looking at the delicious biscuits.

"We'll get some tomorrow then." Ron couldn't help but think Hermione looked and sounded more content than she had in a long time at the mention of tomorrow. "You know, your dad will be quite jealous of all the Muggle things you've seen," she remarked in a sudden change of conversation. Talking about his parents felt strange as they sat there on the bed in the hotel room they shared, eating dinner alone. Hermione seemed to read his thoughts. "I'm sure they're worried about you," she reminded him. "We were supposed to be here three days ago."

He turned to look at her then, her head on the pillow beside him, a content smile on her face and a hint of chocolate still at the corner of her mouth.

He did love her. He knew he did. He thought about the confession over dinner they were both pretending had never happened. Maybe she wasn't pretending. Maybe this is all that loving somebody meant. She knew it. He knew it. He reckoned they both had for a while. It didn't really matter if he said it or not. It wasn't some shocking declaration and nothing would change. Maybe that's all she was trying to show him.

"Well, we're here at last," he stated happily. He wondered if Hermione knew he was referring to them as much as he was their location. She gave him a shy tight-lipped smile that answered his question.

"Yes, we're here at last."

As the unavoidability of sleep drew nearer, Ron found it more and more difficult to act normal. His careless utterance seemed to have been forgotten, but pretending like they shared a hotel room every day and lying on the bed he knew they would be sharing sleep in was a nearly impossible task. It was so different from the sleeper car. This wouldn't be like her passing the night beside him in her clothes or taking a nap together in Gryffindor Tower. They were going to sleep together in this hotel room every night they were here. She wanted to sleep together. She'd requested it. He kept hearing that one word she'd said downstairs at the desk.

One.

One bed.

He recalled how they'd been on the bed before the food had arrived. Her hips had risen to meet his. She'd enjoyed the contact, had seemed to crave it. He recalled her words over the past three days when they'd talked about 'it'. They'd had so many conversations now it was difficult to keep track. He supposed that was a good thing, but her actions and her words often didn't align, and it was all so bloody confusing. She talked about forethought and responsibility one night and the next night confessed to wanting to do 'stuff', but then admitted she needed 'time'. Her words were so ineloquent and vague. She knew ten synonyms for every word and never left things so unclear. He recalled how hesitant she had been tonight, pulling away from him three times before finally relaxing and never offering an explanation. He wondered if it was possible she was thinking the same things he was. He knew there was only one way to find an answer, but his courage left him suddenly as he watched her tiny frame slide beneath the covers.

"Do you…" The words died in his throat so he took in another breath. "Do you want me to sleep in the bed?"

"Well, where else would you sleep?" Hermione laughed absurdly.

"I dunno. I could sleep…you know, just… atop the covers if you like..." For some reason, the act of slipping beneath the sheets seemed much more intimate than anything they'd ever done and he felt like he needed to hear her say it. Despite all that had been said on the floor of the Tropics, their conversation in the sleeper car and the way she'd withdrawn was still fresh in his mind.

"That's silly," she dismissed simply.

"Well, so…you want me to sleep in the bed next to you?"

"No, Ron, I want you to sleep on the floor by yourself." Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but still didn't say what she wanted.

He wondered if she was even thinking about this the way he was, or if she even realised the sexual nature and implication of sharing a bed. He wondered how to go about reminding her that there were parts of him that tended to do things of their own accord, especially when he was asleep.

She just looked to him expectantly from the other side of the wide bed. Tentatively, he peeled back the covers and climbed beneath the sheets. It was bigger than any bed he'd ever slept in before, even with Hermione at the other end of it. He pulled the crisp hotel sheet around his midsection. Every time they had lain together on his bed back at the Burrow, they were nestled comfortably against each other. Her legs were usually entwined in his, her arm thrown around his body, her lips sometimes pressed to his neck. But then they were wearing heavy denim jeans and it was more than just a few thin layers of cotton that separated her bits from his.

"You can come closer," she invited again, but Ron could hear that her voice sounded as small and unsure as he was.

"Do you want me to?" He didn't mean for his voice to come out like a whisper. He didn't mean to sound so uncertain. This just felt huge, bigger than a kiss, or than anything they would or could ever actually say or do to one another. And Hermione didn't say anything, she just nodded her head.

His eyes held hers with a strange confidence that the rest of him was lacking as he slowly inched toward her.

He thought about his confession back in the Wet Tropics and the words she'd uttered to him.

It's always been you.

She was breathing loudly, taking in great steadying breaths like she needed to calm herself to grasp the reality of what they were doing. His breaths weren't as loud as hers, but he definitely needed to steady himself and think clearly. Everything was different now. Every action between them felt more charged than ever before.

They were on their sides now facing each other, their faces so close he could have easily kissed her. He moved a hand to her shoulder, softly caressing her arm until he held her hand in his.

"Is this - ?" he began to ask, but she cut him off.

"It's all right," she assured. "Better than all right," she echoed his words the first time they'd had a proper snog back at the Burrow.

"And you want to?"

"Want to what?"

"Well, sleep together." What a tit he was. He couldn't even say it like a man, couldn't ask her the way he'd wanted all night.

"Yes, that's what one does in a bed," she laughed and she moved a hand to his cheek. Her fingertips slid down his jawline then, resting just under his chin.

"And you…just want to sleep then?" he tried not to sound so crestfallen.

"Well." At the bottom of the bed her cold feet reached out and touched his long hairy legs. He jumped initially at the touch, but then she was weaving her tiny legs in between his in an action more dangerous than she probably realised. "Maybe do a bit more than sleep -"

But Ron was kissing her before she could elaborate.

They were tentative kisses at first, like they had been earlier. He kissed every part of her face and neck. Because this was Hermione and they were in Australia and this wasn't just a snog. They were in bed together and this was everything he wanted to tell her, but still didn't know how. Her pyjamas were thin and he could feel the outline of her knickers through them when he felt her bum. He thought about her words about needing time and then their confession on the floor of the Tropics. It's always been you. I want you too. One bed.

Her hands were tangled in his hair, fingers running over his scalp, pressing his mouth harder against hers. She liked this, embracing beneath the covers in the dark, their legs tangled up at the end of the bed. She liked how he was touching her the same way he had earlier. So, without giving it much more thought, his greedy hand traveled up her leg and rested between her thighs.

She was surprisingly warm and her cotton pyjamas did little to disguise the heat he could feel there. For a moment he did nothing but just take in the feel of her. He didn't even move his hand at all, for fear she would withdraw. As it was, her mouth continued to move over his his and she pressed her knees together, trapping his hand against her for a moment. She enjoyed it. Ron felt his heart beating out of his chest and his blood begin to flow southward. She liked where he was touching her. He moved his fingers then, clumsily pressing into her, but as soon as he did her hand was on his chest pushing him back and he knew he was stupid to actually presume Hermione Granger would want to have sex with him after ten days of snogging.

"Look, I know you want to -" she began to speak, running her hands through her hair.

"It's fine." He blew out a long weary breath as he said the words.

"It's just – it's only been ten days, you know?"

"It's been a lot longer than ten days," he countered, "and you know it has."

"This is just happening really fast," she admitted what even Ron couldn't deny. Things had happened fast. Perhaps the physical part wasn't moving as fast as he'd like, but everything else was. The conversations that they had contained words he doubted he'd ever say to anyone. "Being with you – it makes me feel… " There was a long pause as she struggled for the right words, and Ron wracked his brain imagining what she might say.

Amazing. Magical. Scandalous. Randy. Dirty. Wet.

"It makes me feel a way I've never felt and it's...scary."

"Scary?" Ron frowned at the odd choice of words.

"It makes me want…things I've never really wanted before."

"What kind of things?" he pressed.

"I think you know," she hinted with a shy smile that pleased Ron to see, especially after her comment about being scared by the things he made her feel.

"I think I want to hear it." He tried to repeat the game they'd played with each other all week and she grinned, recognising what he was trying to do.

"Things my parents would not approve of," she replied tastefully, her legs reaching out and brushing his.

"I reckon mine wouldn't approve either," Ron grinned.

"I just...sometimes it's what I want -"

"You do want to?"

"- but sometimes it's not -"

"So you don't want to?"

"I just think, until all of me wants it all the time -"

"You have to want to all the time?"

"Stop!" she laughed in annoyance at his constant questions and the teasing nature of the last inquiry. Ron laughed too, and when he moved his hand onto her stomach he loved feeling it shake with laughter. He loved that they could laugh about this. He loved that they could talk about it. He loved that he could touch her like he was. This was the part that had happened so quickly in ten days. He didn't know much about relationships, but he was confident talking like this was good. "I just mean, until I don't feel scared and I don't feel confused...at all...we shouldn't."

He wanted to tell her he thought she was making it more confusing than it needed to be, but he reckoned that wasn't the right thing to say. He didn't know what the right thing to say was. He didn't like what she was telling him, but he couldn't very well tell her that. He wasn't sure if this was where he was supposed to say something, like how he'd wait until she was ready or he was okay just kissing her for the next year. Ten days had felt like torture, and he doubted he could make it another year. Still, he wondered if there wasn't a part of him that was as confused as Hermione.

He remembered back when he was little overhearing his mum refer to Charlie getting in trouble for having carnal knowledge of a Hogwarts classmate. He'd been curious what it meant to have carnal knowledge and he'd asked his brothers, but they'd refused to answer so he had looked it up in the dictionary. The book had said something about crude bodily pleasures and appetites, which had confused Ron even more at the time. For some reason, that definition was all he could think about now.

Crude bodily pleasures and appetites.

The definition made him feel funny. He looked to Hermione's breasts beneath her blue pyjamas and thought about the feel of her warmth under his fingers. He certainly had an appetite for Hermione and the things he sometimes thought about doing with her were definitely crude. But that wasn't all he wanted. Part of him actually delighted in just kissing her for hours. Then part of him reckoned he'd like to shag her brains out like his brother had teased. Still, another part of him was a bit terrified by the thought. Being together like that was serious.

"So until then?" he inquired, wondering what exactly this conversation meant for their relationship.

"Until then we can keep on...you know..." She hinted as her foot rubbed against him. Ron wanted just to nod his head and agree, but he had no idea what she was referring to. So, since honesty seemed to be the trend of the night, he came clean.

"I don't," he admitted with a shake of the head, tired of the vague words and confident they would just get him into trouble. "I don't know what any of it means."

"Okay," Hermione said the word slowly, looking thoroughly surprised by the level of frustration in his voice. "What do you want me to say?"

"I mean, like, what does 'wanting to do stuff' mean? Or - or 'needing time'," he referenced the conversation on the sleeper car. "I don't know what you mean when you say any of that."

"What do you need, like a list of things we can do?" Ron could now hear the frustration in her voice rising now too.

"I just need you to- "

"Do you need like an actual list with explicit details?" she laughed mockingly.

"I just need you to tell me what you want!" he fired, unsure why he was suddenly raising his voice.

"Well, I don't know!"

"Well, I don't know if you don't know!" he cried back.

And now they were fighting. Was this a fight? Were they fighting in their pyjamas alone beneath the covers in a hotel bed? He wasn't even sure. Relationships were confusing. One minute they were laughing and then they were kissing, and then they were talking, and suddenly now they were like this. He wasn't even sure what like this meant. He thought about Harry's confession about their trip. Harry had called him brave for taking a trip to the other side of the world alone with Hermione. Suddenly, he understood his friend's view. He couldn't just leave the hotel room or avoid this awkward conversation. They couldn't be distracted by searching for Horcruxes or by Portkeys or by anything else. They were lying in bed together and they were talking about this.

"I just told you!" Hermione laughed.

"No, you didn't." Ron shook his head and tried to speak more calmly. "You said this is all happening fast, and I get that. Then you say you're scared of being together and that's, you know, awful because I don't want to make you feel that way. But then sometimes you obviously like it." Ron saw her avert her eyes from his momentarily at the accurate statement. "And I don't know what you want." Hermione was silent. Ron was fairly certain it was probably because she didn't know what she wanted either. "I just don't want to fuck this up," he finally confessed.

There was a long pause before Hermione finally spoke.

"I just want it to feel natural."

"It?"

"You know." Ron didn't bother mentioning the notable fact that neither of them still seemed able to openly say what they were referring to. He figured that was probably important, but kept his mouth shut. "I want being with you like that to feel like kissing you. You know, like it's the most natural thing in the world, and I don't want to have to even... think about it or be nervous or scared or – or anything. I just want it to feel... right."

"And it doesn't feel right?" He let out a loud sigh and scratched his head then. He tried to be calm and patient and not the randy git he knew he was being, and to ignore the troublesome notion that anything they did beyond kissing still didn't feel completely right to her.

"Sometimes it does and sometimes...there's just a lot of other stuff," she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Ron was slightly comforted by the fact that she at least seemed frustrated with herself and her own idiosyncrasies.

"I reckon there is a lot of other...stuff in my head," he admitted, thinking about the train ride and the nightmares and his brother and her parents and all the stuff that had just caught up with him on the park bench. He thought about the fact that neither of them could even actually say what it was they might both want.

"So...we should wait, right?" Hermione looked to him uncertainly for confirmation. "Until all that other stuff isn't there?"

The first thing Ron wanted to say was that those things would always be there, but he bit his tongue. He knew he would live to regret whatever words he spoke next. If he said no and told her how he reckoned that other stuff would always be there, he looked like a randy git. If he said yes, it meant agreeing to wait an indeterminable, seemingly impossible amount of time to be with her. He still wasn't sure what waiting meant and whether he'd still be able touch her or carry on like they had been. That's what he desperately wanted to know and what she still hadn't answered.

"I guess, yeah." He hoped his reply didn't sound as glum to her as it did to him.

"And we're okay?" she asked quietly then after a long pause. "About…you know…this?"

"Yeah."

"And you're not angry?"

"Angry?" Ron was horrified by the thought that she could somehow translate his eagerness to do more as impatience or anger with her. "I could never be angry with you over this." His words echoed about the empty room, seeming to offer her the assurance she needed. "I…" The words were there. They were so close. He didn't know why he still couldn't just say them properly. He'd told her twice already, blurted the words out before he even realised he was saying them. When he actually thought about telling her and reminded himself that he had already confessed his love over homework and chocolate cake, he felt his throat constrict though.

Hermione just smiled as his voice trailed away. He was confident she had known what he was about to say, but she was letting him off the hook for the third time today. He wanted to say something to her then, anything to let her know how deeply he cared for her, and how much he loved her even if he was too much of a bloody coward to tell her the way she deserved.

She turned over then before he could say anything and the abrupt action surprised him. Before he could open up his mouth to object to her leaving, he realised she was just turning over to nestle against him. She snuggled up so her whole body was flush with his, her backside now pressed against him. He could feel her warmth and he was sure she could feel his heart beating against her back. It was a kind of perfection Ron could never have imagined. Two bodies curled up so they fit into each other's nooks and comfy places.

He thought about the first night in Gryffindor Tower ten days ago when he'd been so disgruntled at his mum's sleeping arrangements. He thought about Ginny's teasing comments five days ago at his brother's funeral about how he couldn't stay the night on the camp bed with Hermione. He thought of all those nights in the tent this year when he'd thought about just crawling into Hermione's sleeping bag. This was what he'd wanted, what he'd longed for for so long. To fall asleep together, not because he was too pissed to take care of himself, not just because they could or because they had to, but because they wanted to- because she wanted him there against her just as much as he did.

He nuzzled close to her, his breath warming the back of her neck, and the action caused her to inch backwards, edging even closer to him as she let out a contented sigh. The sound reminded him of the first time he'd kissed her up in his bedroom. It gave him the courage he needed to drape an arm around her waist and snug her body even closer to his. They were nestled so close together now. He could feel her arse against his crotch and he desperately hoped his own body wouldn't betray him and ruin the moment. Despite his nerves and his attempts not to press into her bum, the intimacy of the position itself felt unbelievably natural. They fit together in a way that made him wonder why they hadn't lain like this earlier.

He felt like he ought to say something now and he suddenly recalled her words to him earlier today on the floor of the Tropics.

"I do trust you," he mumbled against the skin of her neck. "I reckon I trust you more than anyone in the whole world. You have to know that."

She didn't respond, but he felt her take in a deep breath. He wondered if he should say something more, but she seemed to enjoy the silence and simply gave another contented sigh. This was a kind of closeness he didn't know was possible to experience, feeling her chest rise and fall beneath his hand, his face buried in the curls of her hair.

A few weeks ago he had watched her sleep at Shell Cottage. Her body had still been sore and bruised and broken from her torture. Their future had been uncertain then, nearly hopeless, and there had been nothing pleasant and peaceful about sleeping beside her. He'd been able to do little more than sit in a chair, watch her eyes close and listen to her ragged breathing as she drifted off to sleep. That sound alone had been a comfort, the rising and falling of her chest a painful reminder of how close he'd come to losing her.

Tonight, she was nestled securely in his arms and he could actually feel each breath against him. He thought about a life of falling asleep next to Hermione. Not marriage and babies and other equally terrifying thoughts, but a lifetime of just this, the two of them together. For the first time, he realised what everybody already seemed to back in Gryffindor Tower two weeks ago.

They had their whole lives ahead of them. This was just the start.


	31. Chapter 31

Twelve days had passed since the world had taken his brother, but for the first time when Ron woke in the morning, Fred's absence was not the first thing that crossed his mind. The first memory was not his brother's smiling, unmoving face or the mound of dirt he now lay beneath, but of the glorious memory of falling asleep with Hermione Granger locked in his embrace.

He would have done more to preserve the blissful memory if he had known how the rest of the night was going to go. They'd both woken up so many times he'd lost count. The first had been when Hermione had jerked the sheets away from him and the second had been when he'd jerked them back and she kicked him in the leg in reply. Then there had been the nightmare he'd awoken from with a start. He knew he hadn't been shouting because Hermione was still fast asleep on her stomach, but he knew it had been bad because he'd been sweating so much he'd handed all the covers back to her. He jerked the covers away from her later in the night and she'd grumpily given him a shove and pulled them back. It had been a constant back and forth all night long. He had no idea sleeping with somebody could be so eventful. If they weren't fighting for the covers they were fighting for space on the bed. One time he'd rolled over and she'd ended up with her face in his armpit.

There was one brief period in the night when they'd found each other again and seemed able to tolerate each other's presence in the bed. Somehow in their slumber, they'd returned to the wonderful position they'd fallen asleep in, but that's when he felt her start to shake. Her fists clinched momentarily in spasm and he felt her shoulders jerk like she was being shocked. Unsure how to respond after his unsuccessful attempt to wake her on the train, he just nestled closer to her, purposefully breathing warmly onto her neck to try to calm her, but it hadn't helped. He'd just had to lay there and feel her shake against him until, eventually, it passed. Now he woke up and as his eyes focused and he looked for her, he saw she was not in the bed beside him at all.

"Hermione?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes groggily, worried suddenly that the less-than-perfect nature of their night's sleep had caused her to retreat to the armchair in the corner.

"I'm right here." She said from the tiny round table to the left of the television. She had the same maps from yesterday spread out on the table, the giant book of names and numbers and a bright white piece of parchment that she was writing on with a short stubby quill without a plume. "I made you some tea." She smiled warmly at him and stood up to carry over a thin paper cup of steaming hot liquid.

"Thanks." Ron was relieved to see her smile as he took the hot cup from her hand appreciatively. "How'd you get tea?"

"I made it." She shrugged nonchalantly and made to go back to the table, but he reached out for her with his free hand. His touch was just soft enough that she could not help herself from smiling as she sat down on the side of the bed.

"How'd you make it?"

"They have tea and coffee and there's a sort of kettle in the bathroom that runs on electricity."

"An electric kettle?" Ron took another sip of his tea. She'd made it perfectly, with just the amount of milk and sugar he liked. He loved that she knew him like this.

"Yes, the electricity heats up water."

"Electricity." Ron grinned.

"Electricity," she repeated.

Ron glanced to the bed behind him that was in a state of disarray after their restless night of sleep.

"When did you get up?"

"About an hour ago," she dismissed, making no mention of just how many times he'd woken her up last night. She seemed oddly refreshed and bright-eyed. Ron wasn't sure whether he ought to mention their disastrous night of sleep or not. He was embarrassed and didn't dare ask if she had slept all right. "I just couldn't fall back asleep." Ron wasn't sure whether it was a pointed comment or not, but he could tell by looking through the window it was still quite early out.

"I can go see about getting us another room," he stated abruptly. Hermione just frowned at him.

"Why would we get another room?"

"Well, because last night…I don't know, last night didn't go so well."

"What do you mean 'didn't go so well'?" she laughed.

"Just…well, it seemed like we both woke up a lot," he admitted in embarrassment.

"Neither of us have shared a bed before," she laughed again, seeming to think nothing of it. "I'd be surprised if it didn't take some getting used to."

"You don't want to have your own bed then?"

"No, of course not." She seemed thoroughly amused by his question.

"Okay." He grinned widely. "Good."

"I can't believe you thought I'd want another bed." She laughed at him.

"Well, you did steal all the covers, you know?"

"I most certainly did not!" She laughed haughtily. "You kept stealing them from me."

"You took them from me like three times!" he argued with a laugh. "And you managed to take up about the entire bed."

"I did not!" She got to her feet suddenly, her hands on her hips and looking quite cross.

"And now you're a liar to boot!" Ron set his cup of tea down on the bedside table, amused at how defensive she'd gotten.

"I did not take up the entire bed," she maintained.

"You did so! I woke up like this in the middle of the night." Ron fell back to the bed and imitated how he'd practically been hanging off the edge of the bed at one point. "And you were like this!" He then sprawled out so his long and lanky limbs nearly filled the bed from end to end.

"Well, at least I didn't kick you in the middle of the night," she defended.

"Oh, you did that too!" Ron just laughed, now thoroughly amused by the entire situation, and loving that he could joke about sleeping with Hermione.

"I do not kick."

"Oh, yes, you do." He reached out with his two large hands then and boldly pulled her back onto the bed with him. He wasn't sure how she would react. It had always been verbal exchanges and a sparring of words between them. They'd never really flirted in a physical way like this and he wondered for a brief moment, as his hands wrapped around her, whether she would object to the possessive way he pulled her to the bed. She shrieked in girlish delight and, Ron liked to think, pleasure at the feel of his hands on her waist.

"At least I don't snore like a crumple-horned snorkack!" She fired and attempted to pull herself to her knees to scramble off the bed and return to her tea and maps. He just hooked one of his long legs around her waist and easily pulled her back down to the mattress with a laugh.

"A crumple-horned snorkack? That's the best you can do?" he chuckled as she struggled to free herself.

"Fine! You snore like Hagrid!" She shrieked with laughter and swatted him in the face with a pillow. He continued to grapple with her on the bed, pinning her arms and wrestling her down.

"You wake up next to Hagrid a lot then, do you?" he teased. His hands were braced on either side of her, trapping her there as she pushed against him stubbornly.

"You snore like a….a drunken manticore with a head cold!" she fired from beneath him. Ron could see she was trying desperately to contain the smile that threatened on her face at the ridiculous insult.

"You love it!" He laughed at the amusing image she'd conjured, but her laughter faded. She stopped trying to push his arms away.

"I do," she replied softly with almost no hesitation. He stopped trying to grapple with her.

"And I love you," he stated simply in reply.

He wasn't sure why he said it, why this moment. Perhaps it was the perfect honesty of the morning that gave him confidence, or the comfortable ease and familiarity of it all. Perhaps it was the memory of falling asleep together that made him leave his anxiety over the silly words behind.

He loved her. He always had.

"I know." He could see her lips curve into a smile and he laughed at the words that he'd heard a million times from Hermione.

"Of course you do."

"I was starting to wonder whether you thought it just meant thank you." She gave a teasing laugh then.

"Are you talking about last night, then?" Ron gave a sheepish smile.

"Yes. And last year." Ron was secretly thrilled by the admission that she still remembered that careless utterance a year ago. Their eyes were still locked on each other and he was still propped up over her.

"Is that why you kicked me then?" he laughed, bending his arms slightly so his weight lowered onto her. "Because you didn't think I knew what it meant?" he murmured the words so his breath was hot on her cheek. "Or because I snore like a manticore?"

"Because you snore like a manticore," she admitted, "but that's okay because I love you."

"I know," he echoed her words, this time covering her mouth with a soft kiss. He felt foolish for being so worried that saying the words would change things. Nothing had changed. They were still Ron and Hermione; they were just honest now, open in a way he'd never been with anybody in his life. He allowed his full weight to rest against her then as he deepened the kiss and released her arms from where he'd pinned them. They immediately wrapped around his head, but she withdrew just as suddenly.

"I should go brush my teeth."

"Stay," Ron pleaded.

"No, I should go." She attempted to wriggle out from beneath him.

"You're right." He relented, allowing her to move out from beneath him and swing her legs to the edge of the bed. "You still have morning breath."

She replied by wordlessly moving her whole hand over his face like she was trying to palm a Quaffle and shoving him back down to the bed. He grabbed hold of her arm as he went back and pulled her to the mattress with him.

"And you think you don't?" She was doing a poor job feigning offense, her smile overtaking her despite attempts to look cross with him and wrestle him away.

"I wake up perfect!" he laughed as their legs tangled once again on the bed. She tousled his hair roughly and he tickled her sides, she put him in a headlock and he pinned her arm behind her. They rolled and grappled atop the already messy bed. The intimacy of the positions they found themselves in seemed lost in the playful giggles and laughter. Ron desperately hoped he wouldn't get a stiffy and ruin the fun moment. His body shook with laughter at her resolve to beat him while she kneeled atop his chest and tried to overpower him, her white-knuckled fists trying to wrestle his arms to his side. She was fiercely determined not to let him win, seemingly oblivious to the advantage his long limbs gave him. It was a side of her he was familiar with. She'd always been competitive, keen on getting top marks in everything and never quick to back down from a challenge. This was new though.

Wrestling matches with Hermione.

He liked it. He wasn't entirely sure what they were even wrestling over or even if it had a point, but he was confident she was enjoying it just as much as he was. The new candour in their relationship was a bit thrilling. He reckoned that's part of what this little competition was about. It was friendly, it was free, and it was fun. This was Australia.

There was a moment when he flipped her to the bed and their eyes both locked, the brazen sexual nature of the position obvious to them both. She'd quickly resumed the wrestling match, unintentionally burying his face between her breasts as she tried to push him off of her. The temporary distraction, the feel of his nose pressed against places his hands had barely roamed, was enough for him to lose focus for an instant and allow Hermione to overtake him. She shoved his head into the bed, pinning it beneath her arm while the rest of his body was contorted at a bizarre angle, her legs tangled between his so he couldn't get leverage to move.

"Okay, fine! You win!" His choked laughter was muffled into the bed as he admitted defeat. "What do you want me to say?"

"Say..." Even though he couldn't see her since his face was still buried into the bed, he could tell she had no idea what she wanted him to say. "Say you have morning breath too!"

"Fine, I have morning breath too!" He sputtered with laughter as he said the words.

There was something so natural and comfortable about the morning he didn't want to think about leaving the bed, never mind the hotel room. Sleeping together had changed everything. Despite the kicks and the cover stealing and his nightmare and her tremors, it had been perfect. There was an optimism and a happiness to the morning that he couldn't recall feeling in the last week. There was no longer a funeral looming over his head, but the joyful thought of reuniting Hermione with her parents. He had a purpose, a mission to fulfil. He would bring the Granger family together. He would make Hermione smile like he'd made her smile on the bed this morning.

There was a reluctance to the way she departed to go change clothes and ready herself for the day, one which seemed to indicate that part of her wanted to do nothing more than stay on the bed together all day too. Her lips lingered on his when she'd stepped back from the bed at last and retreated to the bathroom. They were back to the way they'd been at the Burrow, kissing, cuddling, and rolling about the bed. Except, he realised, they were different now. They'd talked about things. They'd talked about sex. Sure, they hadn't been able to say it outright, but they'd talked about it. He no longer felt like such a randy perv. She thought about it too. Her actions this morning, despite what she'd said last night, made that apparent. Her kisses were hungrier and she no longer seemed to mind that he couldn't keep his hands off her. It wasn't like at Krum's where she'd pushed them away each and every time he touched her. In the privacy of their hotel room, she smiled when he scooped the hair off her neck and dropped a kiss there, his hands sliding low around her waist.

Once they crossed the threshold of room 514 however, she made it very clear that she would not tolerate such public displays. The optimism was still there though. She was still smiling. For breakfast they stopped at one of the shops he had been so intrigued by when he passed by yesterday and Ron got to try a bagel. She was highly amused at his amazement with the circular food.

"But why do they put a hole in it?" he asked curiously as she just tugged on his arm and dragged him back to the river's edge. She tried to be all business, feigning annoyance at his attempts to steal a kiss and boxing him in the ears when he tried to grab her bum. The Promenade in the morning hours was even busier than it had been last night and he assumed her sudden propriety likely had to do with all the strangers around them.

"Hopefully we'll be able to talk to your parents." Hermione tried to focus on the task at hand. "At the very least, we'll be able to exchange our Magical currency."

"Right." Ron wondered if the few galleons his mum had given him would be enough to pay for a dinner at the restaurant they'd walked by last night. Perhaps he'd take her out tonight after they finished searching for the Grangers. He doubted they would find them on day one, after all. He wondered how they would begin searching the city. The list Hermione had begun compiling last night and completed this morning was pages long. There were over two-hundred dental practices to search. He wondered if they would start on this side of the river or venture to the other side. He already liked this side better.

They passed mothers pushing prams, athletes out for a jog, and other couples walking hand-in-hand along the river and Ron forgot to be worried. He had such fun trying to steal a kiss from Hermione, he didn't look for hands in coat pockets or suspicious travellers. She didn't reprimand him when he succeeded in planting a fat kiss on her cheek when she looked down to check her watch. Ron reckoned part of her secretly enjoyed the public display, which along with their clasped hands told the world she was his and he was hers. He grinned and kissed her again, just as two blonde youths came brushing past either side of them. They weren't walking, but glided along on flat wheeled boards that intrigued Ron so much he forgot to be concerned.

"What are those?" He stopped in his tracks, and turned around to watch the boys continue to dart in and around other pedestrians.

"Those are skateboards," Hermione dismissed. "Bit annoying."

"They look quite fun," he admitted. The boys were jumping with the boards now and doing tricks the same way Harry did on his Firebolt. "Well, you know, for a Muggle invention," he quickly corrected.

"For a Muggle invention?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Well, they don't fly," Ron scoffed, but his eyes were still clearly fixed on the boys and the boards now just small dots in the distance. "Still, I bet dad's never heard of them. I ought to bring one back for him. He'd probably like them." Hermione just bit her lip in amusement, well aware that bringing back a skateboard would be for his enjoyment as much as his father's.

"Come on." Hermione laughed and jerked her head in the direction of the Ministry. "You can message him and tell him all about it. I expect he'll be jealous of all the things you've seen."

"Television, bagels, room service, electricity," he rattled off in agreement.

"Electricity." The shy smile and look on her face made him want to immediately leave the river and return to the hotel. He thought about their wrestling bout this morning and their conversation last night beneath the sheets and the way she'd voluntarily pulled her shirt off yesterday. He wondered what today would be like back in the room. Suddenly, he found himself wishing it was the evening already.

The walk to the underpass seemed much shorter than last time and all the intimate spots he'd seen along the river didn't seem quite so cozy in the daylight hours. He saw the bench where they'd had their conversation and smiled when he thought about how much had transpired in twelve hours in this city. He eagerly awaited what the next twelve would bring.

Keeping an eye out for Muggles, he kept watch while Hermione pulled her wand out and unsealed the door. He knew the spell Hermione had used. It was the same one he'd used on every door for the last year. Ron supposed it was a pretty brilliant entrance to the Ministry. Nobody could open the old rusted door unless they used magic. Muggles could throw everything they had at it, but it wouldn't so much as budge. Hermione opened the door a crack and looked into the dark, making a move to step inside before Ron seized hold of her and yanked her back.

"Let me go first." His voice lost the playfulness it had all morning. He couldn't see anything inside and had no idea what lay behind the darkness.

"Ron - " she protested.

"Let me go first." His seriousness silenced her. He knew she knew better than to argue with him when it came to things like this. He stepped inside and quickly cast a Lumos charm, looking around the tiny space. It was damp inside and smelled like mildew. Ron could see nothing noteworthy aside from the blank cement walls and a large corrugated metal pipe stuck into the the floor. He remembered Percy's directions and walked slowly toward the pipe. His stomach churned when he peered down it and could see nothing but darkness.

"It's all clear," Ron called back to Hermione then. She walked inside and immediately sealed the door back up, then surveyed the ordinary room just as he had. There was nothing magical about it and nothing out of the ordinary aside from the giant hole in the centre that looked like it stretched forever.

"We're sure this is it?" He asked uneasily as Hermione joined him in looking over the edge into the abyss. "You're sure we're meant to jump down that? There's not like a stair or - "

"Yes, look." She held out the directions and Ron could tell by her tone of voice she didn't seem too keen on jumping down it either. "In the centre of the room is the primary River Street entrance disguised as a Muggle drainpipe. Passage down the drain is the only guest entrance," she read. "That seems to be the only way we can go."

"If we die at the bottom of this, you know I love you?" Ron was only half-joking as he said the words.

"We're not going to die." She took his hand and climbed onto the step beside the pipe. "Come on, we'll do it together. On three." Ron took her hand in his and put on his bravest face as they approached the edge. It reminded him a bit of jumping into the Chamber of Secrets or down the trapdoor. He'd done things like this before. Bloody Hell, he'd ridden a dragon. He could do this. It was just jumping into a black hole. He looked to her for assurance and she just nodded her head grimly.

"One," he began the countdown as they stepped toward the edge together.

"Two," she continued.

"Three!" They spoke the last word in unison and, with hands joined tightly together, leapt into the darkness. Hermione loosed a terrified shriek at the initial descent. The cement room and the small bit of light it offered immediately vanished as they plummeted into the darkness. Ron had never really had the sensation of freefalling for this long before. They just kept falling. Once he got over the initial shock, he found it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. There was an odd sensation of suspension and support, almost like he was floating. He couldn't tell if Hermione was smiling too or if it was just the force of falling that pulled the skin on her cheeks back. Her eyes looked quite terrified so he squeezed her hand tighter, all the while keeping his other hand firmly wrapped around his wand. Still, they continued to plummet. Ron wondered how long it was possible to fall. He felt like they ought to be at the centre of the earth by now. Just as he started to worry whether there was any way this could have been a trap and they really were plummeting to their deaths, the small amount of pressure against his body relaxed and he was hit with the sudden feeling as if they had fallen into a giant vat of molasses.

He couldn't see or feel anything different, but he could only move his arms and legs with great difficulty. Hermione too attempted to kick and flail, but couldn't seem to move either as they sank slowly to the floor. He was cheered only with the knowledge that this was definitely magic. It was an uncomfortable feeling being unable to move and simply waiting to lower to the floor. He didn't even feel like he could move his mouth to speak to Hermione once he caught sight of the floor quickly coming into view beneath them.

As soon as their feet touched the bottom, the feeling abated. He could move. He could walk. He could talk. It was apparently nothing more than a charm to cushion their fall.

"Well, I'll give this country one thing," he laughed, turning around and looking back up into the dark hole they'd just descended down. He wondered how long they'd actually been falling. It felt like forever.

"Yes?"

"It certainly keep things exciting."

"Certainly," Hermione replied breathlessly.

"If I hadn't thought for a moment we were both going to die, I'd almost say that was fun."

"Fun?" Hermione did not look so amused.

"It definitely beats the stairs in Bulgaria!" he reminded her of the winding stairs they had spent ten minutes climbing down. Hermione wordlessly agreed and then turned to look about the room they were standing in.

It looked to be something of an antechamber to a larger room. The room was circular and the walls were covered with a brightly coloured mosaic of smooth glazed tiles. He could see the words "River Street" spelled out beneath the pictures, a bland but colourful assortment of books, cauldrons, and magical creatures.. It was quite a welcoming entry and reminded Ron of the brightly coloured walls in the Bulgarian Council. He couldn't help but think the Ministry in London looked awfully gloomy in comparison.

"Welcome to River Street!" a voice suddenly sounded. Ron jumped and then looked around wildly to see an old man in a red waistcoat standing by the only door. He tipped his hat to both of them.

"Er, hello," Ron greeted the old man cautiously.

"Can I be of any assistance to you both today? Need help locating a shop? Want to know the best place for a cuppa?"

"Oh, er – I -" Ron stumbled over words, taken aback by the old chap's helpfulness. There was no office or window or desk in this antechamber. This man apparently had no other job but to help visitors.

"Where are the Ministry offices?" Hermione suddenly interjected.

"That'd be twenty-one North," the man informed, as if the words meant anything to Ron and Hermione. Fortunately, he seemed to detect the fact that they were newcomers. "That means in the north sector. When you walk through here, the street will divide," he pointed through the door. "North is that way – south is that way. Twenty-one will be on your right!" The man's eyes twinkled as they nodded, thanked him and continued onto River Street.

Through the doors was an enormous cavernous space that seemed to stretch endlessly and all along the walls were shop windows and doors.

"So this whole thing isn't the Ministry?" Ron's brows furrowed in confusion. He knew Hermione had explained this last night, but he'd been so mesmerized by the sights of Brisbane he had paid little attention.

"No, it's more like Diagon Alley," Hermione explained. "Mostly, it's shops, but there are some Ministry offices too."

"Did you know this was here when you had your parents come to Brisbane?" Ron inquired though he was already confident of the answer. It did look quite like an indoor version of Diagon Alley, except it wasn't nearly as crowded in the morning hours. It was big though and Ron found himself hoping twenty-one north wasn't too far away. The corridor seemed to stretch forever in both directions.

"Come on, he said it's this way." She tugged him along.

Ron was intrigued by the titles of the shops that were just opening for the day. There was Australian Rules Quidditch and Bettendorff's Bonbons. Part of him wanted to tell Hermione to leave him here while she went off to the Ministry offices, but then he remembered the whole reason they were going was to contact his parents. Ron was pleased to see several restaurants and he hoped perhaps by the time they left here it would be lunch time and he could treat her.

Number twenty-one had no storefront, just a heavy black wooden door.

"That looks very Ministry-like," Ron remarked and looked to the bronze directory next to the door listing all the departments inside. They all seemed rather mundane and Ron didn't see anything there that would assist them in any way. There was the Department for Magical Disaster Management, the Winged Horse Racing Council, the Expert Advisory Group on Spattergroit, the Magical Waste Authority, the Pygmy Goblin Heritage Committee and the Office for the Protection of Magical Flora.

"These don't seem like very important departments," he grumbled. "Where are the big offices? Like in London?"

"In Canberra. These are just the local Brisbane offices, but there are a lot of smaller federal departments here. There should be an office for international wizards here though. At least there was last year..." Her voice drifted off and Ron suddenly thought about last night and how quickly disappointment had set in when the library had been closed and they'd arrived too late to the Ministry. He'd kill this Ministry if they'd changed departments in the last twelve months.

"Come on." He pushed open the door and walked into what looked like somebody's living room. There was a large fireplace with a mahogany mantle and two wingback chairs. On the left of the room was a table made of the same deep mahogany as the mantle and a uniformed man in navy robes trimmed with red.

"Hello and welcome to the Queensland offices for magical development, infrastructure and planning," the man greeted and then proceeded to recite a very long message about the departments at the office. "Names please and the nature of your appointment."

"Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley," she spoke slowly, "we are…international visitors."

"May I see your wands, please?"

"Just see?" Ron bristled at the thought of relinquishing his wand. Hermione edged closer to him and rubbed his hand with hers.

"Yes, yes, just hold them up," the uniformed man dismissed, "and tell me the wood and core."

"Vinewood, 10 ¾ inches with a dragon heartstring and willow, 14 inches, with unicorn hair," Hermione recited. Ron pretended not to be flattered or surprised that she seemed to have the details of his wand memorized.

"You will have to register these down the hall. All international wizards and visitors must officially register before embarking any further."

"Where can we go to deliver a message back to England?" Ron butted in, annoyed by all the rules already.

"As an international wizard, you must register your wands before doing anything further."

"Yes, but after we register - "

"I don't think old Benedict is in today."

"Is there anyone we can - "

"You can come back tomorrow to deliver a message at the Overseas Owlery. They've got more than owls there and you can get a message to wherever it is you need." The man pointed out the door. "After you register tomorrow, you'll find it's just across the way there at 24 north." Ron grumbled something under his breath to the man that he was pleased Hermione didn't hear.

"Can you at least take us to the Office for International Wizards?" he demanded, feeling his blood begin to rise. "It used to be here."

"Yes, I'm afraid that office moved. It's over in Ascot now at the racetrack."

"The racetrack?" Ron frowned.

"Who is it you need to see?"

"Why won't you just help us?" Ron growled. "We're trying to find her parents and get in touch with mine!" he explained

Hermione touched his arm and spoke his name in warning. Last time, he'd let his temper get the best of him with a Ministry employee it was back in England and then they'd ended up in the wrong place. He took Hermione's hand on his arm as a cue and tried to calm himself.

"Like I said, the Office for International Wizards has moved." The bald man spoke a bit more kindly this time, the revelation that they were two apparently parent-less teenagers in a foreign country seeming to move him slightly. "I suppose they can register your wands there."

"So how do we get there?" Ron was so relieved he forgot to say thank you.

"I can't let you use the Floo Network without registering, but you see that back wall there?" The man motioned to where a series of large thick cut numbers from zero to forty hung on the wall. Ron and Hermione slowly walked to the back. They reminded Ron a bit of the toy blocks he'd used to play with as a child. "You'll want twenty-six." Twenty-six was higher up than Hermione could reach so he lifted it off the rack and gave it to her.

"Great, what do we do with this now?" Ron snorted.

"Both holding on then?"

"Not another effing Portkey," he grumbled under his breath as he realised what was about to happen. Travelling by Portkey wasn't as unpleasant a feeling as Apparition, but he could do without the feeling that he was being jerked around everywhere. The first time he'd travelled by Portkey at the Quidditch World Cup he'd nearly been sick and had tumbled to the ground in a heap. After travelling around the world, he was quite skilled at sticking the landing and arriving upright now, but he was quite eager to be done with them.

"Welcome to the Office for International Wizards," a chipper voice sounded as soon as he and Hermione let go of the Portkey and their feet landed on the ground. Ron quickly got his bearings and looked to find the wizard who had greeted them. Unlike the man back at River Street who had navy robes trimmed with red, this employee wore dark burgundy robes trimmed with navy over his skinny frame. He too sat behind a large desk, but he was considerably younger, which Ron hoped woud mean he would be more helpful somehow. "What is the nature of your visit to Australia?" he inquired brightly.

"Ummm…" Hermione looked to Ron uncertainly.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Well, it's business I suppose, but not in the financial sense. It is personal though, so I suppose that's pleasure."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Neither," Ron sighed. "We're trying to find her parents." The implication that Hermione's parents were somehow lost caused the young man's' face to suddenly soften.

"Right. Well, let's take care of the paperwork first so you can….get started. Your names, please?"

"Hermione Jean Granger."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"Crikey…" The young man's mouth fell open. "Why you're…"

"That's right." Ron stood a bit taller. Hermione looked rather embarrassed.

"Is Harry Potter here with you as well?" he asked excitedly.

"No, it's just us," Ron replied and was surprised to see the man didn't look all that disappointed.

"This is all just protocol, I assure you. Just need to register you and – and get you your I. . Security's been a bit tight here the last few years. You'd know all about that, I'd reckon," he spoke admiringly.

"What are I. W. Is ?" Ron was annoyed by the thought of paperwork.

"International Wizard Information- just exchange visitor passports. You'll just need to fill this out." He handed them a long piece of parchment. "And this." He handed them another. "And this proof of intent that you plan to depart after completion of your…er…task."

"All this just to travel in your country?"

"Security precautions, m'afraid." The skinny young man shrugged apologetically.

Ron grumbled some more and sat down in the closest chair. A desk, complete with quill and ink, immediately appeared before him as he sat down with the paperwork. He filled out his birthplace and his date of birth and his level of education and his parents' names and other useless information he couldn't possibly imagine could serve a purpose other than delaying them in their task.

"Do you think…" Ron paused as he got to the blank lines for sibling names and he turned to Hermione. "Do you think I still put Fred?" He rolled the quill between his fingers and looked at the empty line beneath George's name. "Even though he's…do you think I can still write him?" Ron felt uncomfortable somehow not listing him as a sibling.

"If you want," Hermione replied softly.

"I don't feel right...not."

"Then write him." She gave a simple shrug, but Ron could see her rolling the quill between her fingers. She looked a bit like he probably did whenever she talked about her parents.

"This all seems stupid," Ron grumbled about the paperwork as he scribbled in his brother's name.

"It's pretty standard," Hermione dismissed. "Viktor said he had to do all of this when he came to study in England."

"Doesn't seem too friendly to visitors." He looked across to see Hermione had filled out much more of the parchment than he had. "What did you write down for length of visit?"

"I didn't put anything."

"So you didn't put anything for return date either?" Hermione just shook her head. "This is so annoying."

"It is tiresome. At least they let you fill out your wand information yourself instead of taking it," Hermione offered positively.

"That's true."

"How come we didn't have to do this in France or Bulgaria?"

"Because we were just travelling through. We don't know how long we'll be here," Hermione explained quietly. Ron immediately wished he hadn't said anything. Back at the Burrow, his mum and dad had assured them they would locate Hermione's parents in a matter of hours. Ron had even been dismissive about returning back in a few short days. But the blank spot on the parchment about their return date and length of stay only seemed to remind him of the enormity of their task at hand.

"What did you do for the bits about our criminal records?" he inquired then.

"I left it blank."

"We broke into Gringotts, Hermione."

"Nobody's charged us yet."

After they filled out the parchment, the young Ministry employee who had finally introduced himself as Leland, was able to hand them their I. W. Is .

"These are good for six months. If you need to renew them, come in three weeks before expiration and - "

"Oh, we won't be here six months," Hermione laughed.

"Right. Well, if you get stopped or questioned for doing magic ever, this is what you'll need to show."

"Stopped for doing magic?" Ron frowned.

"Like I said, security's been tight. We've got to make sure no one's up to trouble. You know how it is, eh?"

"Right." Ron wondered if that meant they had many people who were up to trouble. He assumed it meant that, just like they'd reached India, Death Eaters had made it here as well. "So are we really at a racetrack?" Ron looked around the dull office. "The man back at River Street said - "

"Yeah, we're over here at Doomben!" Leland laughed. "There's so many new regional offices that we were running out of room back at River Street. So this bit of property at the track opened up and it's really quite private and secure."

"So it's Muggle property?"

"Yeah, it's an old horse barn actually. We charmed it so it still looks like one to Muggles. We're really back here with the ponies though!" Leland sounded so happy about it, Ron wondered whether the young man was a punter and skived off work to go bet on said ponies. "Got an agreement with the provincial authority and everything. They were glad to give us the spot. Said we'd probably keep the whole place more secure than Muggles."

Hermione raised her eyebrows and nodded in acknowledgment. Ron could only assume Muggles prized racing horses as much as wizards did their magical winged kin.

"So anyway, let me help you! Get you some things for your visit!" Leland continued to chatter on excitedly. He exchanged what little magical money they had and then began pulling out books and maps and stacking it all up on the desk in front of them. "Here is a list of designated Apparation points in the city." He handed them a piece of parchment.

"Apparation points?" Ron frowned.

"Yeah, it's a bit of a pain, I know. It's just mainly in the city centre really where there's lots of Muggles," he clarified. "Out here in the suburbs you can come and go as you please. Here - " Leland took out a folded piece of parchment, " – is a list of all the magical establishments in Brisbane in and out of River Street." He pulled out a pocket-sized, but very thick book, and added it to the stack of items. "And this is a list of our laws and regulations that you'll want to follow. Quite similar to England, I'd imagine."

"Is there – er - any way we can get a message back to England?" Ron inquired then.

"Well, the Department for International Communication is usually only reserved for - "

"We just want to let his parents know we've arrived safely," Hermione interjected then and Ron could see Leland had trouble denying Hermione's innocent request.

"I suppose. Give me just a moment." He disappeared behind a door, leaving Ron and Hermione in the room that, for the first time, they could take inventory of. It was quite plain and Ron wondered whether it was disguised so simply on purpose. It didn't look like the inside of a horse barn, which he imagined would be musty and dark, but it certainly didn't look like a magical office either. He didn't see a fireplace and the picture of a steeplechase race on the wall was permanently fixed as the horses soared over the fence.

"Did you want to ask him about helping locate your parents?" Ron whispered to Hermione, who was investigating the office as well.

"They can't do anything."

"Well, you won't know if you don't ask. Maybe they can track people with memory spells. It's worth asking, right?"

"They won't be able to help us."

"Why won't you just ask?" Ron pressed.

"If you come back this way, my boss says you can send a message back to England from his office." Leland appeared and waved them through a back door before they could finish the conversation. The room they entered looked like the office of somebody very important. There were photos on the wall of people shaking hands and lots of plaques and certificates. A tall black wizard in shining green robes stood beside the desk. He cut quite an imposing figure, but he offered Hermione and Ron a warm smile. Ron wondered if he recognized them as well.

"Leland says you need to send a message back to England."

"Yes."

"I'm Dathan Wisecarver, happy to he - " He extended his palm, but Ron's mouth dropped open before he could finish his name.

"Dathan Wisecarver? THE Dathan Wisecarver?" Hermione looked thoroughly confused that Ron knew something she didn't so he explained. "He was a Quidditch LEGEND back in the '80s! Played on the 1990 World Cup Team!" Ron exclaimed. "They played England in the First Round in a - what was it? - six hour match! I remember that bludger you sent to Hawksworth that knocked him out! I thought we were done for!" he chattered on excitedly. Leland looked to be suppressing a grin and Ron could only assume he was a Quidditch fan as well and recalling the same match. Hermione looked unimpressed, but as amused as Dathan Wisecarver by his enthusiasm.

"It's been a long time since anyone brought up that game!" he roared with laughter. " I'd figure you'd be sore about me knocking out Hawksworth."

"We still made the finals," Ron scoffed. "England had a deep team that year. Flitney came through."

"How do you remember all that? You couldn't have been more than ten years old!" Wisecarver shook his head in amazement.

"Ron knows Quidditch better than just about anybody." Hermione sounded oddly proud and Ron beamed at the compliment.

"Well..." He gave a modest shrug.

"Do you play?"

"He's a Keeper," Hermione informed before he could. Once again, her voice seemed filled with pride. Ron wondered if she'd always sounded like that when she spoke about him or if he'd always just ignored it.

"I never was quick enough on a broom to be Keeper," Wisecarver admitted. "You must be quite good."

"He is."

"I'm nothing great."

He and Hermione both spoke at the same time. Ron felt the colour rise in his cheeks at her admiration.

"A national hero and a Quidditch star!" Wisecarver grinned and then stepped back behind the desk, turning the conversation back to business. "Anyway, Leland says you need to get a message back to England?"

"Yes, we had a bit of a rough trip here and just want to let everyone know we have arrived," Hermione explained.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Well, what you'll do is write your message on this." He handed them a piece of very thick fibrous parchment and a quill that he dipped into red ink. "And we can send it along to your minister in this." Wisecarver motioned to a familiar brass goblet in the middle of the desk like the one they'd used in Bulgaria. Ron didn't bother telling him they already knew how it worked, he just smiled and nodded and handed the quill to Hermione.

"Dear Kingsley. Please pass onto the Weasleys that we have arrived safely in Brisbane and are at the local Ministry office where we have been treated kindly," she narrated as she wrote.

"The Ministry employees here have been very helpful in getting us settled." Both Wisecarver and Leland smiled at the words, apparently pleased with themselves at having impressed such important guests. Ron could hardly wrap his head around the fact that the Quidditch star appeared eager to seek his approval. "We have not begun searching for the Grangers yet, but will commence this morning. We are staying at the South Bank Hotel in room 514. All is well. Ron and Hermione."

Ron smiled at the signature. He liked the look of their names together and the sound of her saying them out loud. Ron and Hermione. That's what they were.

"Is there anything else we can help you with?" Wisecarver inquired then. Ron waited for Hermione to speak, to inquire after her parents and he shot her a look urging her to do so. She ignored the imploring look and remained silent, offering little more than a friendly smile and a shake of the head.

"Can you help us find Muggles?" he blurted out, ignoring Hermione's angry glare when he did. "They're dentists," he continued, "somewhere here in Brisbane. Can you help us at all?"

"Find Muggles?" Wisecarver looked perplexed. "Why?"

"They're trying to find her parents," Leland explained.

"You're Muggle born?" his boss looked surprised.

"Is that a problem?" Ron asked brusquely, forgetting this was one of his childhood Quidditch heroes. Hermione moved a hand to his arm.

"My wife is Muggle born," Wisecarver grinned, indicating it was hardly a problem.

"So you can help?"

"To help locate Muggles?"

"They've had a memory charm put on them, would that help?" Ron pressed.

"I'm afraid not."

"See, I told you." Hermione looked embarrassed that the issue had even been raised and tugged on Ron's arm. "Thank you for your help. We'll just be going."

"No, can't you like track people that have had magic done to them? I've heard about that! My Dad works at the Ministry back in England."

"That would be something for the High Ministry. We don't have that capacity at this office and I don't have those kind of contacts."

"But you're Dathan Wisecarver!" Ron appealed to him.

"Now I'm just a Ministry employee. I'm afraid I'm really not that influential."

"Dentists fix teeth, right?" Leland sputtered suddenly. "I think there's a dentist up the road! There's a sign with teeth on it up by the chip shop we go to for lunch sometimes."

"That's right, it's up past Racecourse Road," Wisecarver chimed in.

"Yeah, it's right across from that Muggle apothecary - what do they call it - a pharmacy?" The skinny young man appeared all too eager to help. "And I'm sure we can think of more."

"We have a list, but thank you," Hermione declined from behind a tight-lipped smile. "We really ought to start searching."

"You should stay and watch the races since you're here!" Leland suggested jovially. "First race goes off in an hour. It's great fun." Ron's face lit up at the suggestion of stealing away with Hermione for just an hour more before they began the search for her parents.

"I'm afraid we really can't." Hermione's response immediately dashed his hopes.

"We can stay for one race," he argued.

"If you've never seen a horse race they really are quite fun," Wisecarver agreed. Surely, an endorsement from a man who played the most exciting game on the planet would soften Hermione up, but she still shook her head.

"Come on." He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice to a whisper. "We can spare an hour. It's nearly lunch time anyway." Looking highly unconvinced, she just grabbed his wrist to look at his watch.

"It's not even noon yet," she chided, noting the hands weren't even past eleven.

"Elevenses then."

"You're unbelievable." Her attempt to keep a straight face failed and she just shook her head, purposefully trying to avoid his playful gaze.

"I'm hungry," he whispered back with a purposefully suggestive raise of the eyebrows. They'd only been out of the hotel two hours, but he already longed for the intimacy of the morning again.

"Fine," she relented. Ron thought he could detect a bit of her that longed for the morning too.

"We're going to stay and watch the races," he informed then, turning back to both men, who seemed to be quite cheered by the news.

"Just one race," Hermione interjected, but Ron was quite sure he could get her to stay for more. They had to figure out a course of action anyway. All Hermione had done last night and this morning was compile a list of offices and their addresses. They still had to map each and every one throughout the city. He reckoned this was as fine a place as any to do such tedious work.

"Excellent!" Wisecarver clapped his hands. "I'm sorry we couldn't help find your parents, but if we can help again at all with anything else, getting messages back home and the like, you know where we are."

The words were a comfort to Ron as they said their goodbyes and exited the Ministry office. Though he was happy to once again be alone with Hermione, he was sad to leave both men behind. Having a magical contact in the city, even if they seemed to lack a tremendous amount of power or influence, comforted Ron tremendously. Their task felt less lonely or hopeless somehow now that there were people in the city they knew. Though their surroundings had been foreign, the sheer fact that they were back in the magical world made everything familiar.

Exiting the barn, Ron couldn't help but be on edge. Leland hadn't been lying when he said they were back with the horses. A sleek horse whose coat was a shining blood bay pranced in front of them, tossing his mane about as he pranced along on a short lead shank. The groom holding the rope eyed the two of them warily. Ron immediately seized Hermione's hand.

"Relax," she breathed.

"Do you see the way he's looking at us?"

"I'm sure we look a bit odd back here," she explained. 'I don't think this is really a public area."

"Are we in trouble? Is he going to send for someone?" Ron looked around anxiously. Hermione was right. They were tucked in along rows and rows of open barns. The only people he could see were attached to or tending to a horse.

"Leland said we'd be fine. It's just down this road to get to the main track." He could feel her pace quicken even as she said the words. They didn't encounter many people, but those they did all seemed to look at them the same way, like they didn't belong. The looks set him on edge. He hated when Muggles looked at him like that to begin with. After the last year, he found it was difficult to fight the feeling that there was more to the look than two people who shouldn't be back here. "It's okay," she murmured, rubbing his hand with her thumb then.

"Right." The gentle reminder helped remind him they were safe here. Despite all the increased security precautions Leland had informed them of, Australia was safe. If there were Death Eaters, surely one of the Ministry workers would have told them to be wary. They wouldn't have encouraged them to go to a Muggle event. They were okay.

"You used to ride horses, right?" Ron tried for some conversation as a sleek spindly-legged horse with a shining copper coat and a tiny jockey sitting atop its back clip-clopped past them.

"Not really."

"You did. I saw the picture in your room," he recalled.

"That was just for a few months," Hermione dismissed, but Ron caught her looking at the horse as well with a bit of nostalgia. "My parents." That single word made Ron's hand tighten around hers for an entirely different reason than before. She swallowed loudly, licked her lips and took in a deep breath. "When I was little they - all I did was read books, you see - "

"You don't say?"

"On that ledge - in my room - by the window - do you remember?" As she spoke, Ron could see how just speaking about her parents took her 10,000 miles away to a house on Stuart Avenue.

"Yeah."

"I used to just sit up there and read all the time, even on summer holiday. I'd practice magic too, where my parents couldn't see of course. And - and that's all I did."

"What's that got to do with horses?" While he enjoyed the tidbit from her past, which she so rarely shared, he was puzzled by its significance.

"My parents tried to get me to do lots of other stuff - including horse riding - but none of it really interested me."

"I bet you were good at everything though."

"No, I wasn't a very good rider."

"I find that hard to believe," Ron grinned.

"I really wasn't," she insisted.

"There was a ribbon in that picture." Ron recalled the picture of Hermione sitting atop a fat grey pony.

"It was a fifth place ribbon," she admitted.

"That's still good."

"There were only six people in the class, Ron," she admitted.

"Better than I could do, I'd wager." He swung their joined hands in front of them happily, trying to bring back the morning. She smiled back at him, but it came less easily than it had two hours ago. "Closest I've come to horse riding is that thestral back fifth year and a camel when I was twelve and I nearly fell off both of them."

He chattered on about Egypt then and about anything to steer the conversation from Hermione's parents. He hated that it still made him so uncomfortable. Perhaps if she could talk about them without her eyes getting all glassy, he wouldn't always want to change the subject. Needless to say, he was grateful when they finally arrived at what seemed to be the main track.

It was a perplexing assortment of tents and terraces, benches and patios. Hermione appeared as confused by it all as he was and Ron was secretly pleased this was new to her as well. This whole trip had been about navigating the unfamiliar together and he loved how much closer it seemed to have them. The track wasn't very crowded on a weekday, but there were enough people around to make even Hermione stick close to him in the unfamiliar surrounding.

"Where do you want to go?" Ron looked around at the many signs directing them to different terraces and bars and suites. Fresh air or indoor seating, mounting yard or track view, sandwiches or drinks. Ron hoped the few galleons he had exchanged for Australian dollars would be enough to gain them admittance. He wondered if this could qualify as a date.

"Let's go somewhere where we can spread out the map and plan out the day." Hermione's curt reply made clear this wouldn't be a date, not even when he bought her a fizzy drink from a vendor and they settled onto a bench. She pulled the maps and notebook out almost immediately, before Ron could even inquire if she wanted anything to eat. He could feel the morning slipping away.

"You take this and I'll read you the names of the streets I have written down. You read me the coordinates and I can look it up and see which are on this side of the river."

"Sure," Ron complied.

"Just read the letter and number to me." She shuffled through her papers, pulling out the list of dentists she'd put together last night on the bed. Thinking about last night and the bed, Ron edged closer to her and moved a hand to her thigh. She did little more than give a smile as she began rattling of street names.

"Cartwright Street."

"F5."

"Southgate Avenue."

"H9."

And so the morning continued on. A parade of horses pranced onto the turf, but Hermione paid them little mind. She didn't relent until she had circled twenty-five practices in a 3 mile radius. Though it still looked to be barely scratching the surface of the expansive city, Ron thought it looked like an awful lot of land to cover. This is what they were here for, he reminded himself. This was the whole purpose of this trip. It wasn't about shared hotel rooms or wrestling on a bed or touching each other beneath the sheets. It was about finding her parents. And he did want to find them. He wanted Hermione to be complete again. But he knew there was also so much more he wanted from Australia than just locating her parents. It wasn't just about getting a shag or being away from the Burrow. He needed this, being here with her and figuring things out. He wanted to be complete too and as he looked to Hermione, who was now leaning over the map so far her nose was practically touching the paper, he instinctively knew he wouldn't feel complete until she was.

He wrapped an arm around her and pressed his lips to the side of her head, but she was so focused on locating the nearest Apparition point she hardly stirred. He kept his arm around her and leaned over the map to join the search.

"We'll find them."


	32. Chapter 32

He hated feeling useless. She guided them about the city. She had the list of the two-hundred thirty-six dental practices. She inquired after the Wilkins. She didn't even let him hold the map. Ron could do little but hold her hand and give her a squeeze after each and every secretary replied that there was nobody by the name of Wendell and Monica Wilkins at their practice. The disappointment obviously weighed on her, but by the tenth rejection, she no longer seemed fazed by it.

"Excuse me, is there a Dr. Wilkins at this practice?" she would ask ever so politely at each desk, window, or cubicle. And each time the reply was 'no', she would turn sharply on her heel and exit, Ron trailing behind her.

She was so methodical as she checked off practice after practice. While she still held tightly onto his hand, she refused to be distracted at all by his kisses on the cheek or any attempt at flirting. They'd barely stopped for lunch, not even when he could hear both their stomachs grumbling. When they did finally take a momentary break, their brief lunch reminded him very much of their soup in the Dijon brasserie. She was removed like she had been then, thinking about her parents and undistracted by his attempt at conversation. He wasn't sure what to say. His blanket assurances that they would find them after each rejection didn't seem to help and he could offer little assistance in navigating the city or locating the next practice.

The Australian Ministry's list of approved Apparition points limited their travel so they couldn't simply Apparate from point A to point B. They had to do a bit of walking all over the city, which Ron was quite sick of after the past year. His feet ached and he wondered how Hermione was still able to march up the steps to each office with so much energy. He wanted nothing more than to sit and break. He suggested a return to The River so he could buy her dinner, but she maintained as frantic a pace as they could in the daylight hours. Ron half expected her to keep working into the night.

The familiarity he felt that morning along the river, where he'd been too busy stealing kisses from Hermione to worry about the people around them, had long faded. Anybody that looked at them longer than necessary, passed too closely, or had their hand in his pocket drew his attention. He could see his suspicion wearing on Hermione. She sighed loudly and dragged him along each time his feet slowed and his hand tightened around hers.

He was thoroughly exhausted by the time they returned to the South Bank Hotel. He desperately missed the carefree fun of the morning. He disliked how far away Hermione seemed to have gotten from him in just eight hours. She had said little all day aside from barking directions about where to go. It was like a completely different Hermione from the one who had left the hotel that morning.

"You two!" The receptionist shouted as they passed by the front desk. "Mr…erm - Weasley!" Ron halted suddenly as he realized she was talking to him. "Ms. Granger, excuse me!"

Ron and Hermione shuffled backward and looked to the receptionist in confusion. Ron remembered how unimpressed she had been with them yesterday and what she assumed they were doing in the hotel. He could see she still looked unimpressed.

"Your room has been upgraded," she informed curtly as she reached down and handed them a new plastic key.

"Upgraded?"

"Yes, to the Executive Suite."

"Executive Suite?" Ron was so confused that he could do little more than repeat her words. He glanced to Hermione and was comforted to see even she looked puzzled.

"But we can't afford the Executive Suite," she mumbled in embarrassment.

"Yes, well, you're no longer paying for the hotel," the receptionist informed shortly.

"Who's paying for the hotel then?"

"That would be the British government." She eyed Ron and Hermione standing there in their jeans and trainers, likely finding it hard to believe they could be that important. "We took the liberty of moving you already so if you'll just return your old key..."

"You moved us out already?" Ron frowned. That meant the hotel staff had gone poking around amongst their belongings.

"Ron, it's all right," Hermione whispered and patted the beaded bag that was resting on her hip. He understood the assurance - Hermione had packed everything up. There had been nothing to move aside from dirty underpants and socks. Perhaps that was why the desk clerk looked so unimpressed.

"And you've received a parcel," she added, reaching below the counter to hand Ron a small brown package.

Ron was not accustomed to Muggle post, but he could indeed see a Whitehall address on the box.

"Let's open it up in the room." Hermione stayed Ron's hand as he made to tear open the package. Ron agreed and they allowed themselves to be led up to their new room, which was on the very top floor, twenty-three up from their previous one. He could tell they were in a special section of the hotel because there weren't nearly as many doors in the corridor where their room was and they had to put their key into another door just to access that corridor.

The hotel employee, unlike the receptionist who seemed so disdainful toward the notion of two teenagers having access to such a room, appeared thoroughly amused when he opened the door for them and they took in the extravagant room.

It wasn't a room. It was like an entire house. Ron muttered every swear word he knew as he looked around the expansive room and Hermione didn't even bother correcting his language. It was a far cry from tiny room 514. It was like taking each floor of the Burrow and laying it all out on the very top floor of the hotel.

"If you need anything, please just let the front desk know," the young man who had led them up grinned. "My name is Vic."

Hermione and Ron both looked to each other and tried to suppress smiles at the name. They thanked him profusely and waited until the door was shut before tearing open the brown parcel. As expected, it was not really from the British government, but from the Ministry, Kingsley to be specific. Their message to him that morning had arrived.

Ron and Hermione,

Please accept this room upgrade on behalf of the Ministry. I again offer my sincerest apology for the mishap with the Paris Portkey and any confusion or fright it may have caused you. I have spoken with the High Ministry in Australia and, unfortunately, there is little they can do to help locate Muggles. I'm sorry to say this means you are on your own. To assist you in your search please take the following and do not hesitate to use it whenever necessary. Good luck and continue to take the proper precautions.

Sincerely,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister of Magic

Ron's ears perked up at the mention of a tool to help them locate Hermione's parents, but he was disappointed to turn the brown package upside down only to see a piece of plastic that looked just like their room key fall out.

"What is it?" Ron frowned, but Hermione looked impressed.

"It's a credit card." She held the piece of plastic up. Ron peered over to look at it. Both their names were written on the card along with a series of numbers that looked to have no pattern.

"Is it magic?"

"Sort of." She held the card aloft like it was a wand.

"What's it do? You talked about them in Dijon when we were getting the train tickets," Ron recalled.

"You buy things with it," Hermione informed. "Kingsley must have set up a Ministry card for us. This is incredible."

"So you buy things with that piece of plastic?" Ron seized the card and looked to it, thoroughly puzzled. "I don't get it."

"Yes. Instead of paying cash you charge things on the card. Kingsley's letting the Ministry pay for everything. He must know it's going to take a while." Her voice grew soft at the realization.

"Or -" Ron stepped up behind her and moved his hands so they rested low on her hips. "He knew it was unfair to make you pay for a hotel and he reckoned we deserved it." He dropped a hopeful and inviting kiss on her neck. He missed the physical closeness of the morning. He didn't know whether it was more distraction or disappointment that had pulled her away, but he knew twenty-six dental practices that had never heard of Monica or Wendell Wilkins must be disheartening. "Look at this place!" He swivelled her hips and took a step forward, forcing her to look around the room.

"It is quite posh," she admitted.

"It's more than posh." Ron continued to walk her around the room, pushing her forward like a kind of puppet. "Look, we have a sofa and two chairs and television way bigger than the last one." He walked her into the sitting room. "And we have our own balcony." He nudged her out the French doors onto the patio where they had a panorama view of the city at sunset. Nuzzling her neck through the waves of her hair, he continued, "And we can eat dinner out here and look at the lights...and we have our own kitchen..." He sidled through the doors back to the kitchen. "And a great big basket of food..." he mumbled the words against her, eyeing a basket overflowing with cheese, fruit and crackers all tied with a bow and sitting on the counter. "And an electric kettle." He noticed what Hermione had made their tea with that morning and when he dropped a soft kiss on her neck, he saw her eyes finally close contentedly. So he began walking her toward the bedroom, which was in a separate wing by itself with a bathroom larger than his entire bedroom back at the Burrow. "This place is incredible. Come on, you have to admit it." He worked at her neck from behind, liking this position behind her.

"It's because he knows we're going to be here a long time," she spoke cautiously.

"He knows we deserve it," Ron argued, continuing to busy himself with her neck. "We deserve this."

"What are we going to do about supper?"

"Let's just eat that basket in the kitchen." He was eager to sit down after their day of walking and reckoned there was enough food in the basket for the two of them. Hermione had made meals out of less in the last year. "We can eat it out on the balcony."

"I suppose that's fine."

"Unless you want to go back out and go somewhere else," he offered despite his desire to stay in.

"No, I'm tired," she responded shortly.

"Well then...why don't you...have a shower...and relax." He was eager for this stiff and serious Hermione to leave and punctuated each word with a kiss.

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, why don't you get that gift basket from the kitchen and take it out to the balcony to get supper ready and I'll just have a shower like you said."

"Okay." It was the most she'd said in hours and he was pleased with himself for suggesting a plan that she actually agreed with. She broke away from him then, rifling through her beaded bag for clothes to change into and then turning toward the bathroom. "Hey." He grabbed her hand and tugged on her arm to pull her back to him.

"What?" The look of annoyance quickly fell from her face as soon as he pressed his lips to hers. "Don't take too long." He let his mouth linger over hers like he had in the train car, mimicking the way Hermione said you finished a wine. The kiss seemed to have worked because she offered him a small smile, the first he felt like he'd seen in hours, before retreating behind the bathroom doors.

Forgetting that he was supposed to be readying their dinner on the balcony, he instead climbed onto the enormous bed. This one was even larger than the one in their previous room. He rolled onto his back and blew out a loud breath, listening to the sound of the shower. He hated how methodical she'd been today. Last night had been monumental and this morning had been incredible. His hands and lips had been all over her and she'd seemed to enjoy every minute of it. Yet ten minutes walking the Muggle city streets and it was like that had never happened. His attempts at intimacy just now had seemed to relax her slightly, but he wondered which Hermione would emerge from the bathroom. He had secretly been looking forward to tonight all day and that was before he even found out their room had been upgraded and that they now had a giant fluffy bed and a shower big enough for two.

Trying his best not to think about her in the shower or the things they'd done on the bed in Room 514 yesterday, his hands slid below his shorts nonetheless. He figured he'd best wait until he was in the shower, but the memory of her confession last night was too much. She thought about being with him. She had read about it. She wanted to eventually. His eyes rolled back in his head thinking about the way she'd stripped her shirt over her head and how much she'd liked his mouth so low on her belly, not to mention the way his bits had nestled against her last night, snug against her bum. He hardly realised when the sound of the shower stopped and he barely pulled his hand out from his pants in time.

"Did you bring the food outside?" Her voice sounded as she towelled off her hair and stepped through the doors.

"Oh – er – no," Ron confessed uncomfortably.

"Why not?" Her voice had the familiar and bossy tone to it that Ron was oddly relieved to hear.

Because I was thinking about your tits in the shower and having a wank instead.

"Well, because – er - this bed is incredible and I couldn't get up once I sat down. "

"Honestly, Ron, all you had to do was carry a basket of food out to the balcony." Ron was pleased to see the shower looked to have washed away the day's disappointment. She seemed renewed and he was cheered immensely by the way she fussed at him. Apologizing, he stiffly made his way to the bathroom. He felt like a fifteen year old version of himself. This marked two straight nights polishing his knob in the shower while Hermione sat right outside the door. He felt like some kind of pervert. She was clearly not okay. Her singular focus on her parents and the mechanical way she'd gone about the day had been unsettling. Having a wank should be the last thing on his mind.

Sharing a hotel room with her was literally like a dream though. There was no Harry there to interrupt, his sister would not knock on the door, his mum would not fuss at them to return downstairs for pudding. It was just Hermione and him. Alone. All the time. He turned the water off, feeling immensely more relaxed than before, but still wondering what the night would hold. He couldn't help his thoughts from straying when he looked at the size of the bed. What a randy git he was.

She was sitting out on the balcony, apparently soaking up the rapidly setting sun while she waited for him to join her. The food in the basket was now all set up in a delicious looking spread. There were honey-coated peanuts and gourmet crackers, shortbread, and marmalade. There were cheese twists and pepper jelly, quince paste and spiced almonds. It would be a decidedly random feast, but it would definitely be a feast. She had spread out the contents, dividing them carefully into categories. There were the sweet items in one place, there were different meats in the other, there were crackers, and there were spreads. There were even two glasses of champagne.

"It was in the basket," she explained as he eyed the flutes of bubbly liquid. Ron couldn't help but think she looked nervous. "It was the only thing to drink other than water. You don't have to drink it if you don't want."

"You're supposed to give a toast with this stuff, right?" Ron knew the wizarding version. There had been flutes like this at his brother's wedding and people had done toasts to his brother and his new wife. "To – er – Australia," Ron offered, unsure of what else to toast, "and to Kingsley." Kingsley was the whole reason they were on this balcony, after all. Ron wondered if the Minister of Magic had consulted his mother when he'd gotten the room for them. Something told him if he had there would have been more than one bedroom and no champagne and chocolate.

Hermione silently raised her glass in agreement and they both took a nervous sip. Ron wasn't sure if he was supposed to taste it like Hermione had told him to drink the wine, but he was sure he had swallowed far more than he should have as he felt a strange burning sensation in both his nose and throat when he drank. He set the champagne down and walked over to the table with all the food.

"This all looks good."

"I'm not sure how it will all taste together," Hermione managed a laugh that made Ron smile to see.

"Ah, it'll be perfect," he assured, picking up a handful of cheese twists and turning around to the city skyline. "Look at that view!" he mumbled through a mouthful. Ron looked out at the silhouettes of the Muggle skyscrapers that stretched to the sky. He could see the odd library they'd first Apparated to and could even pick out the bridge by the Ministry entrance they'd dropped down that morning was. Hermione looked out on the vast city with a blank expression. She'd been so funny all day. Everything he'd said, any encouraging words of comfort or compliments had seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"It's beautiful," she remarked quietly from her position in the lounge chair.

He was pleased to see she'd been sunning herself while he was in the shower, delighting in a bit of frivolity that he so rarely saw. He realised, as he looked to her in the sunlight, that it was the first he'd seen of her bare arms in the daylight. The burns from the cursed treasure were fading, but there were other more prominent scars that covered her arms, the ones he had felt yesterday that she had kept hidden for weeks with jumpers and cardigans. He could see now how they criss-crossed her arms at random, appearing very much like Bellatrix Lestrange had made a sport out of carving into her flesh. Ron tasted bile rising in his throat and he tried hard not to stare. He knew the fact that she was baring her arms was significant, just like it had been last night, even if she still wore that awful bandage beneath her left elbow. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable and he tried to pull his eyes away, but it was too late.

"They're pretty ugly, huh?" she remarked calmly. Ron just shrugged.

"No worse than my brain scars." He motioned to his upper arms. "Are you treating them with anything?" The attempt to disguise the concern in his voice failed horribly.

"Just Dr. Ubbly's."

Ron was tempted to inquire why she'd kept them covered for so long and why it was now she was choosing to reveal them, but he kept silent. He didn't know why Hermione was so reluctant to talk about what had happened to her, to even acknowledge that it was a serious thing. The closest they'd come to talking about it had been back at the Burrow and she'd been so dismissive he wasn't even sure how to press the matter or even if he should. He figured he'd never been tortured. He had no idea what she'd had to endure. He'd heard it and that alone had been enough.

He was so tempted to ask her though. He knew you couldn't see the real effects of the Cruciatus curse. Truthfully, he didn't really understand it. It was an unspeakable pain, he knew that much, but he didn't truly understand what it did. There was a morbid curiosity in him that wanted to know. He wanted to understand what she'd gone through. Part of him almost wanted it done to him just so he could understand. Bill had tried to explain to him that the curse affected every part of her and that her insides were damaged too. That was why she couldn't keep down food the first day and he'd had to hold her hair back while she vomited into the bin after supper. She'd been so pale and weak at Shell Cottage and Fleur had been so protective of her. With Luna's approval, she'd allowed Ron to sleep by her bed the first few nights, but when it came to caring for her she hadn't allowed him near. So he never asked about the cuts or the bandage she'd kept on now for well over a month.

"Maybe tomorrow we can just call the offices." At the sound of her voice, Ron jerked his eyes away from her arms. She was still looking out at the vast city skyline. They had spent all afternoon traveling the other side of the river, yet looking out at the expansive city it felt like they'd hardly made a dent.

"Call them?" Ron frowned. "I thought you said yesterday it would be too expensive to call them all?"

"But we have the card now and Kingsley said to use it."

"So you just want to...stay in here all day and - and make calls on the felly-tone?"

"Telephone," Hermione corrected with an amused grin. "And yes."

"Don't you think that's kind of...boring?" His own disappointment that they would not get to explore more of the city surprised him. He didn't like being useless and he didn't like how far away Hermione had been and he certainly liked the look of this new hotel room and the possibility of what they could do in it, but he liked seeing the city. He liked being outside with her, even if she had been so far away.

"It's faster," she stated simply. "We'll never get to all of them at this rate. Especially not with all these stupid Apparation points."

"They are annoying, aren't they?

"Just a bit," she sighed and then spread some cheese onto a cracker. "We still have over two-hundred to go." The words were a necessary reminder of the mission before them. Truthfully, he dreaded what tomorrow would bring. She'd be serious and focused and withdrawn. It would be just like today only without the walking. They'd be stuck in this room and all he would be able to do was sit beside her. Still, he had a mission and he would see it through.

They didn't talk much over their dinner of cheese, biscuits, and champagne. She looked out at the city mostly. He hoped its enormity wasn't weighing on her and tried to make conversation about all the odd things they'd seen that day. There was the girl with the long turquoise hair at one of the offices, but the longer he talked about her the more he realised she had reminded him of Tonks. Then there was the group of Japanese tourists, but their constantly flashing camera bulbs reminded him of Colin. So he resorted to babbling on about how much he liked the city and what a brilliant job she'd done selecting it as the location to send her parents. He stammered over the words though, like he did every time he mentioned them.

"It seems like a great city. I bet they won't even want to come home they love it so much!" As soon as he said the words, he realised what a terrible thing it was to say. He may as well have punched her in the gut. "I mean, of - of course they'll want to come home. With you. To England. But it's just - it erm - it seems like a great city." Fuck, he'd said that already. "It's sunny and uh - the - the beach is so close. It's - you just – you did a great job." She remained silent and did little more than offer a smile. Ron immediately tried to fix his stupid slip. "I - I didn't mean it like they wouldn't want to - "

"I know what you meant," she finally replied. "Thanks." She folded up her paper napkin then, signaling she was done with their makeshift dinner.

"Here, I can get this." He reached eagerly across her body for the dirty plastic wrappers and napkins. "Go lay down. I can get this, I can get this."

Hermione cocked her head to the side then, the same way she had when he'd offered to make her a cheese toasty for the first time back at the Burrow. He knew it was because of the offer to help clean. He was eager to show Hermione he could do things for her, that he wanted to do things for her. For so long he'd been such a prat. He'd been a dirty, sloppy, messy boy. He was eager to show her he could be a man. He delighted in the opportunity to show her what he was capable of and how much he wanted to please her, even if it just meant cleaning the kitchen. There wasn't much to clean up and with the assistance of his willow wand he had the balcony and kitchen both looking spotless in no time.

She was resting on the great bed when he finally returned to her. Her arms were spread out, filling up the entire mattress as she lay back and stared up at the ceiling. She was still oddly quiet and he couldn't help but notice that she had hardly said much during dinner.

"That's about how you slept last night," he teased in an attempt to remind her about their night together. He wanted the morning back, the playful lingering kisses and the promises they had held. He'd been eagerly anticipating how the matter of sleep would come up today, especially after their comfortable intimacy this morning. She hardly seemed to hear him though, her eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He noticed the piece of paper crumpled in her hand that he knew was their list of dental practices. He climbed onto the bed beside her and worked up the courage to address what he knew was the reason for her silence.

"We knew it wouldn't take a day, right?"

She didn't reply, but just fussed at him to take his shoes off as he climbed onto the bed. Ron feigned annoyance, but was secretly delighted at the reprimand. That was his Hermione.

"This was only what…twenty-six we made it to today?" He gently pulled the list from her hand.

"I know."

"We'll find them, Hermione."

"I know." Her short reply sounded again. "Kiss me." The unexpected words were nearly a whisper and Ron looked at her a moment to make sure he'd heard them correctly. She blinked once and reached for his hand, then repeated the demand. She'd never given him an order like that and it was more than a little exhilarating. He obliged her with nary a second thought and she responded to him with a surprising enthusiasm. Gripping his face in her hands, she quickly hooked her leg around him, urging him closer. Suddenly, it was the morning again.

All day long, she'd been so tense and focused only on getting to as many dental offices as they could. But now it felt like she was coming back to him. Finally, he could feel her body relax. They were comfortable kisses, exhilarating only because of how normal it all felt. There was nothing new about being this close and feeling her the way he was. There was no hesitation or anxiety, no withdrawing to ask whether it was okay. He reckoned this is what she meant she wanted sex to feel like. He wondered how many days of kissing like this would get them there. They kissed and caressed atop the covers until she finally withdrew to brush her teeth.

He pretended to occupy himself with the television at the edge of the bed while he waited for her to finish her nighttime routine and get into bed. When she finally did, he wasn't entirely sure how to climb in next to her. Last night it had just sort of happened. They'd come together and then she'd turned around and then it was perfect. He didn't know how to position his body to assume the same position without looking like a tit. He didn't know whether to put his left arm above his head or beneath his own body, which felt quite awkward. He was grateful when Hermione suddenly raised her head and shoulders slightly off the mattress for him. Ron felt a stirring deep inside as he realised what the action meant.

She wanted him to hold her.

He knew it shouldn't come as a surprise. He'd held her before lots of times. There was something unbelievably intimate and suggestive about the action though. She wasn't wearing her the long-sleeved top that matched her usual blue pyjamas, but only a simple vest to sleep the bottoms. The sight of so much naked skin would usually excite him, but the ghastly scars on her arms made the tightness in his shorts lessen as she edged closer to him.

Tentatively, he slid his arm beneath the gap provided by her neck, between her shoulders and the pillow. She nestled into his embrace and he rubbed her bare arms with his free hand. She shivered as he ran his hand up and down her arm, even gently grazing the bandage on her forearm. He waited to feel her withdraw like she had last night every time he touched her arms, but withdrawing meant leaving the bed and leaving this position he reckoned she enjoyed just as much as he did.

His hand wrapped around the course bandage, desperate to know what she was hiding from him. He felt the words in his throat and he pictured what would happen after he asked. The last time he'd confronted her about anything related to it, she'd scolded him for telling everyone in his family what had happened to her and conveyed very clearly her desire to keep her torture secret. Then they'd almost had a row in front of half his family and she'd accused him of behaving different. If he were to bring it up now, he'd probably blurt out how different she was too. Everything from her frantic and impractical reaction back in Dijon to her detached behaviour today screamed that she was far from alright, but he knew Hermione would hardly admit that. If he said anything he'd likely end up sleeping on the sofa.

Besides, she had enough weighing on her today without him bringing up her torture. So when she pressed herself closer to him, he kept his mouth shut and instead moved his hands instinctively to her breasts.

He was confident she wasn't wearing anything beneath the vest, a thought which drove him mad with desire. His hunch was answered as he felt her nipple harden beneath his thumb through the cotton vest. He squeezed gently at first, then a bit harder when he didn't feel her withdraw. The only response he could detect was her moving against him, her bum pressing firmly against his crotch. Ron couldn't keep himself from letting out a groan, an action which only made her continue to rub up on him.

"We should sleep." Despite the fact that this was exactly what he'd wanted all day, he tried to be a gentleman and recall her words last night about being confused and scared and nervous and excited.

"You don't want to sleep." Her voice had a soft teasing tone to it. Here was definitely the confused part. She really was a fucking mess about all this.

"What do I want to do?"

"Me," she replied simply after a long pause. Ron's eyes widened at the blunt remark, hardly believing Hermione had said it. He supposed he hadn't exactly been subtle last night about his obvious desire. She laughed at the lengthy silence that followed her comment. "Right?

"Well...erm...yeah." Ron wondered if maybe this was a trick question. Perhaps after their conversation last night, he was supposed to say he no longer wanted her like that, but that would be the biggest lie she could ever catch him in. "What uh...what do you want to do then?" he asked dumbly.

"I don't know." She continued to rub her backside against his crotch. "This feels good."

"Yeah." He tried to steady his breathing. It felt better than good. Ron could feel a familiar pressure building between his legs as his striped pyjamas suddenly began to feel too confining. "What about, you know, last night?" He reminded her of her words in bed while his hand instinctively traced circles on her abdomen, recalling how his tongue had done the same last night and again this morning. They'd certainly come a long way from tentative first kisses back at the Burrow.

"Right." He felt her shift against him suggestively.

"Hermione Granger." He knew there was no doubt she could feel him growing hard against her.

"What?"

"You're a tease."

"I know." She turned over to face him then with a secret smile. He inhaled sharply at her withdrawal, suddenly aware of the fact that he'd been holding his breath for most of the last minute. She smiled at the intake of breath, clearly aware of what she'd done and looking quite pleased with herself. "Are you all right?" Her voice rose in careful concern even as her hand stroked his chest longingly.

At that moment, Ron couldn't help but recall her awkwardness in the train compartment to Budapest. It was difficult to believe it was only four days ago she had stumbled over an apology for causing the exact same reaction in him. Now she seemed delighted with her own ability to get him so easily aroused.

"M'alright," he dismissed, but his breathless response didn't seem to convince her.

"Are you sure?"

"Are you?" He turned the question back on her, reckoning that was the real issue. She reached out to touch his face softly and answered his question with a kiss. The action, despite not answering his question, made him grin. She'd been apart from him all day and he was relieved to see the comfortableness of the morning return. He'd done this. He'd brought her back.

When she moved to deepen the kiss, he replied in kind, one hand moving to her waist, but when she edged her body closer to him, he backed his hips away.

She frowned at the action, her bottom lip jutting out in an unfamiliar pout he couldn't ever recall seeing before.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing...I just...you know...last night..." he stumbled over an explanation. Her many words on the matter still rang clear as anything in his head. I just want it to feel right. This is happening really fast. We should wait. He knew her feelings hadn't changed in a day. The only thing that had was a day of unsuccessfully searching for her parents.

"I still want you." The blunt words made his dick jump. "Can't we still...you know..."

"Yeah," he replied eagerly, trying to hide his amusement at her perpetual inarticulateness over these matters. He wondered if actually being able to say what she wanted was part of feeling natural too. She might not flush as much anymore, but she certainly couldn't speak straightforwardly on the matter. "Yeah, definitely. Just...not now."

"Well, you started it," she reminded him who had reached for her breasts first.

"I know." Ron scratched his head uncomfortably. "But I didn't know you'd be...doing that."

"Doing what?"

"You know, er..how you were...like up against...you know, well - me." The stammering words were barely audible as he scratched at his head and averted his eyes. He reckoned he wasn't any better than she was about speaking straightforwardly.

"I can't do that?" She looked puzzled.

"Not when we're in bed!" he confessed in embarrassment then, his voice significantly louder now.

We're in bed.

The words rang around the room for a moment and he thought he could see Hermione listening to them echo as well. The verbalization of their situation somehow made it more real. They were in bed together. This was what they did now.

"Is that a rule now?" He couldn't help but think she didn't sound all that disappointed with the idea of having firm rules and guidelines.

"As long as you still want to...you know, wait, then yeah, I guess," he stumbled some more and gave an awkward shrug.

"Do you have that little self control?" She looked amused, but her voice had an accusatory tone to it like when she criticized him for procrastinating his Potions homework or screwing up a Silencing Charm.

"It's not that - it's just - " Ron fumbled for the words to explain himself yet again. Truthfully, part of him did doubt his own ability to stop if they started the things she was initiating beneath the sheets. She ought to know that. "You know, we're - we're in bed - " There was the phrase again. " - And - and weren't not really wearing a lot of clothes -" He looked to her partially-bare shoulders.

"- and you have no self control," she chided.

"Well, I don't think you do either!" he exploded then. This marked night number two of shouting at each other in bed. He didn't mean to yell and he hated himself for raising his voice, but he couldn't help but point out what a hypocrite she was being. He could see she looked offended at the accusation so he lowered his voice and clarified. "I mean, I just think that if we, you know, kept at it, you wouldn't...stop. Despite all those things you said yesterday."

"You think I don't mean what I said?" She looked highly affronted.

"I think you do," Ron sighed. "I think you meant every word of it." Her eyes softened slightly then at his words and she let him continue. "It's just - you know I want you and...when we're together, that's pretty much all I think about," he admitted. "I forget about everything. I reckon I couldn't even tell you what day of the week it is." She did not blush or turn away at the honest admission so he continued. "And if you're anything like me, I think maybe sometimes when we're...together, you forget that you mean it - what you said last night." She was silent.

He was right. He knew he was, but still he held his breath awaiting her response. She'd probably get angry with him for assuming things about her and what she wanted. "Maybe I should just sleep on the sofa," he mumbled finally when minutes passed and still she didn't respond.

"No, don't." She grabbed his arm as he made to leave the bed. "Stay."

"I don't think it's a very good idea."

"Surely we can control ourselves." She tried for a laugh that quickly dissolved when she saw him still sitting on the edge of the bed, weighing the decision. Sleeping on the sofa made the most sense. It looked comfortable enough and it was stupid of him to think he could lie next to her, thinking the thoughts he did, and everything would be fine. Neither of them were ready for this. Like she said, it had only been ten - well, now eleven - days.

"Stay. Please." Her voice was small and meek now. "I - I want you beside me."

He'd thought after the exchange of 'I love you' this morning that there was little she could say that could affect him so much, but the small admission rooted him to the spot.

It was the closest he'd ever heard to her asking for help in his life. She seemed to know it too because she looked down to the mattress, gathering whatever else it was she needed to confess.

"I want you to sleep beside me," she explained further, as if the meaning were somehow still unclear. At the words, he recalled the way her limbs had quivered against him last night and the faint plaintive sounds that had escaped her lips. "I think I sleep better when you do." He let the words sink in as she finally raised her eyes from the mattress to look at him. She looked almost like she was embarrassed to have to admit such a thing. Ron thought again of the awful sound of hearing her call for him, but being able to do nothing.

Without a word, he swung his legs back into the bed and crawled under the covers beside her.


	33. Chapter 33

When his eyes finally fluttered open on their second full day in Australia, she was still asleep beside him. Fortunately, they had remembered to draw the curtains before bed, but there was still a small bit of light peeking through the gap. He didn't have to see the city through the curtains to think about the enormous task they'd barely scratched the surface of yesterday. He dreaded the thought of another day with the solemn and detached Hermione from the day before. Turning from the light, he gazed at her sleeping form. He wanted the Hermione from last night.

Thinking about the way she'd been purposefully rubbing her arse against him didn't help to relieve the tent already pitched in his shorts. She wanted him. In a wonderful, but maddeningly confusing way. They'd passed a large portion of the night wrapped around each other, at least every time he seemed to wake she had been there. The only exception was when he awoke to her limbs trembling beside him on the bed. Despite how much he had wanted to wrap her in his embrace, he could do little but watch and wait. He doubted he'd ever get used to watching her shake and the terrible helplessness that accompanied it.

Waiting for her eyes to flutter open, he stared at the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. It wasn't like him to be awake first and he thought for a moment about going to the kitchen to make her a spot of tea like she'd done for him yesterday, or at least go to the toilet and take care of his morning wood, but he couldn't make himself leave the bed. This was something he doubted he'd get used to: waking up next to Hermione Granger.

His eyes could drink in the sight of her now without fear she would catch him staring. Her hair was a tangled mess since she'd fallen asleep with it still wet - as wild and bushy as it had been when she was eleven. The underside of her forearm was angled toward the ceiling and he could now clearly see the myriad of scars that marred the delicate skin there. Some looked to be small quick cuts while others were painfully long, one running down almost the entire length from wrist to elbow. It was one thing to feel them, but another to see them so close. Ron swallowed the lump threatening to rise in his throat as he stared long and hard at every one, thinking about what each meant.

It had been so much more than the Cruciatus Curse and she'd never let on. Somebody had cut into Hermione. He'd been kicked and punched and hexed and bruised plenty, but somebody had purposefully cut into her flesh. He knew it was the same blade that had killed poor Dobby. Ron recalled the bloody bandages that kept emerging from her room back at Shell Cottage and the blood stains he hadn't even noticed on his own shirt until hours later. There had been so much else going on. He'd been so relieved that she was alive, staring only at the rising and falling of her chest that he'd paid little attention to what Fleur did. She must have put the bandage on quickly. He wondered how he and Harry hadn't realised sooner.

Ron stared at the olive-colored bandage that was wrapped around the top half of her forearm, desperate to know what lay beneath it. At the Burrow he'd hardly noticed it. She wore shirts with long-sleeves and cardigans all the time, so he'd paid it no mind. The heat now made it painfully obvious. She didn't even seem to take it off when she showered. It was too small to be a Dark Mark, but was clearly something she wanted to hide. No wound could be that raw after this many weeks.

He missed the days when he wouldn't be so afraid to just blurt out and ask what she was hiding. She'd yell at him and tell him to mind his business and they'd row about it and that would be it. Things were different in Australia though. They'd not even been in country for two whole days, but he could see it. She seemed more fragile even than she had in the moments after the Battle or any time this year, which was saying something as she'd seemed to burst into tears every few days over the last twelve months. Hell, Hermione cried all the time. It wasn't just pain and sadness that made her eyes water, either. She cried when he and Harry finally made up Fourth Year and she cried when Fleur and Bill said their vows. If he looked back on it, he realised that unless she was somewhere crying alone - a thought that disturbed him tremendously - he couldn't remember the last time he'd really seen her shed tears. Her voice had gotten shaky on several occasions back at the Burrow, but here they were nearing a week of being lost and confused and, for a short time, possibly hunted, and she hadn't cried once. He hadn't seen a hint of the outbursts of emotion he had grown so accustomed to seeing from her this year.

Her eyelid twitched slightly as he continued to gaze at her, and Ron held in a breath, hoping he hadn't woken her. His brother's funeral. She'd cried twice that day. The first time was his fault, and he recalled how that news from Harry had felt like a punch in the gut. The second was at the funeral itself. He hadn't been there for either.

Ron wondered if there was a connection.

He reached out delicately to comb an unruly strand of hair from her face and he saw her twitch again slightly.

"Good morning," her dry and scratchy voice sounded at his touch, even as her eyelids remained closed.

"Morning. You been awake for a while?" He wondered if she'd somehow known he'd been staring at her.

"A bit. We need to remember to close the curtains all the way next time." Finally, her eyes fluttered open and rested on him.

"The light woke you up too, eh?"

She responded with what Ron could only guess was an affirmative moan as she stretched her arms out over her head sleepily and then reached out for him. He grinned as her arms snaked around him. This was what it was like to wake up next to Hermione Granger.

"I'd say last night went better," he offered happily.

"Yeah?"

"You only kicked me three times," he teased and was pleased to see the corners of her mouth raise slightly.

"And you only stole the covers twice."

She leaned forward and captured his lips then. She didn't withdraw with excuses about relieving herself of morning breath and he made no effort to hide his morning glory.

"I love you," he stated then, a casual reminder of the huge step they'd taken yesterday morning.

"I love you," she replied back easily.

And that was it. That was how it would be from now on.

"What time do you want to get started?" His voice was a low murmur as he traced his mouth from her jaw down to her collarbone.

"We can just stay here," she replied, her hand now raking the back of his neck like it had yesterday, "like this."

"You want to make the felly-tone calls from bed?" He knew upon hearing the word out loud that he'd mispronounced it again, but Hermione didn't bother correcting him.

"You need to shave." Ignoring his question, she reached out and grabbed his stubbly cheeks then, stopping the movement of his mouth against her skin.

"Why? Does it tickle?" he laughed.

"It's itchy."

"Well, I don't want you itchy." He said the words, but purposefully rubbed his prickly chin against her cheek.

"Stop!" She shoved both hands to his face and he teasingly rubbed his face against her shoulder, then her arm until he found himself in the same position he had their first night here with his lips hovering over her belly. He almost forgot he'd woken up this morning thinking about her parents and their search. It was so easy to forget about them here. It was so easy to forget about everything here.

"When do you want to start calling?"

"Later." The way Hermione said the words and ran her hands over him told Ron she had no inclination to leave the bed. Despite the inviting way her hands moved over his, the avoidance he could easily detect bothered him and he tried again to get her out of the bed.

"Do you want to get breakfast first?" he offered. "I really need a shower anyway."

"You showered last night?" She frowned.

"And I really need one this morning." He hoisted himself up so his weight was no longer resting on her and glanced between his legs, hoping she would catch his drift.

"Right - er - we need - I'll keep working on the list," she stammered suddenly. Ron wanted to laugh at her sudden nervousness. Last night, the same bulge hadn't bothered her at all. She'd even sought it out. She was definitely confused. The more she stammered, the more that became apparent. And as much as he loved the Hermione that didn't flush when she felt his erection pressing against her, he knew her presence would likely be all too fleeting until they accomplished their mission.

"We're going to find them today," he declared boldly, hopping off the bed then. "I can feel it."

His fresh optimism lasted all the way until noon. After a quick trip to Ascot to send another note off to his parents, this one a rather depressing note about their status in finding the Grangers, and to eat breakfast, they returned to the hotel for a day of telephone calls. It was a dull prospect that Ron attempted to make more exciting by opening all the windows and turning on the television. Already, he could feel the lazy intimacy of the morning fading away just like it had yesterday.

She kept up as manic a pace as she had the day before, making forty-one phone calls in one hour alone. The conversations were short. No matter how many different ways she tried to phrase the inquiry, requesting an appointment with Dr. Wilkins or simply inquiring after them, the conversation always ended the same way.

She forced out a polite thank you and quickly hung-up the phone. Forty-one times in a row. Each time the next call came slower. There were no affectionate touches or stolen kisses between calls. She looked weary and tired and he knew another day with no trace of the Grangers was already wearing on her.

He proudly tried to deflect her attention, showing her how he could turn the television off and on, change the picture and even make it louder and softer. Now that he realised each number played something specific, he'd even begun remembering the numbers. Twelve showed the weather. Twenty-two showed food all the time. Fifteen always had pictures of animals. He was reluctant to admit that he found the device quite fun. Hermione had told him as much, of course. Back in third year she'd tried to explain it to him, but he had of course argued about why it sounded silly. They'd rowed about it for nearly an entire hour before Harry finally told them to be quiet.

She wasn't as amused by his prowess with the television as he hoped and by one o'clock, she'd already reached the point she had yesterday when they'd returned to the hotel. She quit. She hadn't made a call for over thirty minutes and was now curled up in front of him on the sofa in a position he'd grown to love quite a lot, even if he didn't love her suddenly somber mood.

"It's too bad magic messes up electricity," he made another attempt at conversation and levity, his hand draped loosely around her waist. "I think dad has about four of these in his garage and I think I'd like one." Hermione gave a slight smile, but said nothing in reply. "Want to go out and have some lunch?" he offered. "I thought I saw a sandwich place over in Ascot that had these huge chocolate biscuits." He continued to ramble on about food shops and biscuits and nothing particularly important, but she didn't give any inclination that she wanted to eat. "Want to go take a walk along the river?" he proposed, but again she was silent. "Want to have a snog?" he offered then, hardly thinking about how it sounded but sensing that might motivate her more than anything else.

She craned her head back to look at him and he feared for a moment she might berate him for being so uncouth, but her lips curled into a smile. Then they were kissing. Hands grabbing, limbs entangled, pressed as tightly together as the confines of the sofa would allow.

This was the Australia he had longed for at the Burrow. There was so much he couldn't fix. He couldn't make her stop trembling in her sleep. He couldn't make her remove the bandage. He apparently couldn't help find her parents. He could kiss her though. It was the one thing that seemed to make her smile.

Her hair was wilder than ever and her cheeks were flushed, not with embarrassment, but with what Ron knew was arousal. He could feel her breath coming fast against him. He knew the urgency in each kiss was the product of a whole morning of frustration and disappointment. She didn't push his wandering hands away when he groped her bum with one hand and her breasts with another. So he instinctively slid his hands beneath her shirt, eager for the feel of her bare skin. She shivered at his touch as his hands slid around her ribcage and up her back. His long fingers toyed with the straps of her bra like they had their first night, except today they weren't waiting on room service to interrupt them.

She sat up on the sofa then and he knew when he began to unhook her bra she would not push him away. She was sitting up because she wanted him to do it. Two nights together had changed things. She kissed him with a hungry desperate fervor and their eyes locked for a moment as he worked his hands around her. He could feel her lips curve into a smile against his as seconds ticked by and still he was unable to shed it. Finally, they both shared a laugh at his ineptitude.

"Can you get it?" She pressed herself tightly against him, Ron assumed in the hopes that the closeness would allow his arms more movement to shed the pesky article of clothing. He kept working. "I thought you'd done this before?" There was a teasing tone to her voice that relieved him tremendously.

They could joke about Lavender in the middle of a snog.

They'd certainly come a long way since the train ride to Bulgaria. Truth was, he'd been able to do this effortlessly last year, sometimes with only one hand. Maybe it was the angle, maybe it was the difficulty of trying to do it while still kissing her, maybe it was the sheer fact that this was Hermione, but he kept fumbling with the clasp.

She let out a relieved laugh when she finally felt it pop open, which caused him to laugh as well. There was something so familiar about the exchange of laughter, the same kind of laughter that he'd grown up hearing. It was comforting to hear it now while they navigated this new territory together.

Silently, he moved his hands up her bare arms to pull the elastic straps down through her shirt sleeve. She complied, a shy smile on her face as he helped work off first the left and then the right shoulder. The bra was white with tiny red and gold polka dots that made him smile.

"Go Gryffindor," he grinned.

"Oh, shut up," she rolled her eyes as he discarded it over the side of the sofa. Fucking hell, he'd just taken off Hermione Granger's bra and she was still smiling at him.

The kisses were softer now, not quite as desperate and matching the tentative way his hands now rested on either side of her ribcage. He knew she wanted him to touch her, but for as much as he wanted her he didn't know how to go about doing this. He tried to remember last night and the way he'd felt her through her vest. They were sitting upright on the sofa now and it seemed to be an awkward angle to just stick his hand straight up her shirt.

He knew the inviting way her tongue slowly moved against his should give him all the encouragement he needed. Still, his hands remained at her ribcage. This was Hermione. How long had he daydreamed and fantasized and got off to the idea of what lay behind her carefully buttoned blouses and more tightly fitting Hogwarts jumpers.

He could feel her skin break into gooseflesh as he finally slid his right hand around to her stomach and travelled north. He broke away from her kiss momentarily as his fingers stretched tentatively upwards and over the soft mound of flesh, briefly passing over the nipple to the other side until he was cupping her entire breast entirely in his hand. Ron couldn't help but think it felt perfect, not too large, not too small. She fit perfectly in his hand. He stared at the front of her shirt, as if in awe, before he moved in to kiss her. His hand just rested there a moment as he revelled in the sheer knowledge that he was touching her before giving a simple squeeze. He felt her lips tense up against him at the action and he withdrew suddenly.

"Is this okay?" He cursed himself for being such a tit. She'd stop him if it wasn't okay. Why did he always have to ask?

She didn't say anything in reply, but began to back away from him. Worried that he'd done something wrong, Ron withdrew until it became evident what she was doing. She was lying back down on the sofa.

She was inviting him to lie on top of her.

He tried desperately not to grin like an idiot at the bold action and immediately started kissing any part of her he could, her chin, her jaw, her cheeks, her ears. He even dared to nibble her ear lobes. There was no hesitation now when both hands worked aggressively beneath her shirt, rubbing and squeezing and massaging. He wasn't sure what aroused him more, the feeling of the action itself or the mere realisation that he was doing it to Hermione.

With a grin, he could see the reflex he'd discovered up in his bedroom nearly two weeks ago applied to more than just kissing. The moment he touched her, her eyes closed. He gazed up at her adoringly as he carefully took a nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger and he watched her eyes close and her head roll back. The angle gave him perfect access to trail kisses all along her throat.

"Is that good?" he asked dumbly. The only response was her hand dropping down softly to the nape of his neck, rubbing his skin in encouragement and taking fistfuls of his hair. His breathing, which was already quite ragged, now became a desperate pant. He doubted he'd be able to control himself much longer, not with her nails raking against his skin and the feel of her now hardened nipple between his fingers.

Anxious to shed her shirt completely, he began running his great hands up and down her arms. He could feel the scars beneath his hand and he stroked them softly with his thumb. When he did, she just moved to wrap her own hands around him. Again he tried to touch her arms in an obvious and purposeful way. This time she lowered her hands and grabbed his arse. As much as the action thrilled him, he reached for her arms a third time, this time not letting her pull away. He realised now how purposeful it was, how every time he touched her there she did something else. She'd done it yesterday too.

"Stop," she finally muttered, the annoyance in her voice evident as she jerked away from him.

"Just let me touch you." He reached for her arm again.

"No." She pulled away from him now.

"Hermione." His voice was a calm low rumble that was a stark contrast to her shrillness. "Just let me - "

"I don't want you to." She tried unsuccessfully to squirm out of his grip so she was now holding her arms up over her head in a ridiculous manner. Their previous activity on the sofa was all but forgotten.

He raised his hands up over his head too then, pressing his palms against hers and lacing his fingers between hers.

"Let me touch you," he breathed the words into her ear. She said and did nothing in reply so he unlaced his fingers from hers and slid his hand down her wrist. She didn't fight him. He could feel the first prominent bump. "They're just scars." His mouth danced lightly across her skin. "We've all got 'em."

"Yes, but they're so...ugly," Hermione finally uttered, her voice sounding small and far away. Ron was struck by what a frivolous comment it seemed. The scars were the result of her torture at the hands of a sadist who had nearly killed her and all she seemed concerned about was their unattractive appearance.

He ignored the disconcerting statement and kissed her softly. This time, when he pulled her arms down, she allowed him to pull them back to her sides. His mouth continued to work against her and he hoped the action would show her he didn't want to ask her about it. He didn't want to talk about it. He very much wanted to continue what they had started. He just wanted to touch her without feeling her tense up and withdraw. He didn't want her to hide parts of herself from him anymore.

"Nothing on you could be ugly," he assured with a smile. Then he slipped his hands back under her shirt.

"Why don't we call up and get some lunch?" She edged away from him, apparently no longer eager to continue their discovery of each other.

"Hermione," he tried to reason.

"I don't really want to go out."

"Hermione."

"Maybe we could split a pizza. You said you wanted to try one."

"Okay," Ron relented, blowing out a loud sigh. He sat back onto the sofa and stared at the images on the television. Usually, he'd take the indication to stay in as a good sign that she wanted to do more, but now her bra just sat in the middle of the floor like a reminder of the moment he'd somehow managed to ruin. She picked up the telephone and dialed immediately before he could say anything further.

"What do you want on the pizza?"

"I don't know. Surprise me," he muttered absentmindedly, rubbing his face with his hands. He knew she could detect his frustration and shortness and when he heard her order a Lamington, he knew it was her attempt at an apology. He wondered if maybe he should be the one apologising. He wasn't even sure what it was he should apologise for. All he had wanted was to touch her. They sat and watched the telly in silence while waiting for the food. Twice she looked like she wanted to say something, but both times seemed to think against it.

Little was said throughout the lunch and once they finished, she made no effort to continue with the phone calls for the rest of the day. Her bra still lay discarded in the middle of the floor, a visible reminder of what had just transpired.

He thought about the night tremors that he had to endure watching last night and would have to endure watching again. He needed to talk about it with her. They needed to discuss this. Ron looked down at the list of dental practices they'd made a serious dent in today. They needed to discuss a lot of things.

They were lying in the same position on the sofa again. Ron was relieved that despite the uncomfortably quiet lunch, this was now their natural position to rest in. She seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. Lying like this was the expectation now. Whatever had transpired, they were still together and she still wanted him close. Ron was tempted to ask her if she wanted to have a snog again. He wondered what would happen if he just dropped a kiss on her shoulder and slid his hand northward. It seemed the only thing she couldn't say no to and the only thing she enjoyed.

So he tried it. He buried his face into her neck, combing aside the waves of hair, and he pressed his lips to her neck softly. She seemed reluctant at first to acknowledge him, her eyes focused ahead on the television program about some museum of art being constructed in Melbourne. He kissed her again, this time angling awkwardly for her face so his mouth reached her jaw and her cheek and her throat all at once. He wrapped his fingers loosely around her bare arm as he did and was pleased when she did not withdraw. There was so much he wanted to say to her. You're perfect. It's okay. We'll get through this.

"I love you." Was all he could whisper. They'd said the words so much in the last twenty-four hours, he was afraid they would lose their impact, but she squirmed around to face him then. When they embraced it lacked the passionate frenzy of their earlier exchange. Their mouths moved slowly, almost lazily and there was no hip thrusting or suggestive gyrations. But his hands ran up and down her arms and she didn't withdraw. He ignored the course bandage, feeling her tense up whenever his hand passed over it, sensing whatever lay beneath it was for another day. She wasn't tensing when he ran his hands over the rest of her arm and that was enough for him. Delicately, he traced each place the skin was marred, memorising each bump and blemish. They were a part of her now like any other part of her.

"They're just scars," he whispered the same assurance from earlier. Clearly hearing him, she ran her hands up his arm then, moving over his bicep and the deep scars left there by the brains two years ago. For some reason, he was haunted by Madam Pomfrey's words about how thoughts could leave the deepest scars. Her fingers continued their journey up his arm then, reaching up under the sleeve of his shirt to feel the splinching scar that she had helped heal this fall. "Just scars," he repeated.

They kissed and caressed off and on for the rest of the afternoon, softly, lazily, and comfortably. She made no attempt to do anything else. The list of practices to call, the search for her parents quickly seemed forgotten. Ron was loathe to initiate the search himself, but eventually, he did what she seemed unable to. Picking up the list, he did his best to mimic the way Hermione had dialed the numbers and the manner she had spoken.

"Hi - er - yes - um - hi - can you hear me, hello? Do you - um - do Monica or Wendell Wilkins work at this address?"

She chuckled in amusement the first time he called on his own, reminding him not to shout into the phone so much. Then they would kiss and then a little while later he'd make another call. Each rejection seemed to increase the time she wanted to spend kissing him.

"Do you want to go get dinner?" he finally asked when he looked to the clock and realised they'd been lying on the couch for the better part of six hours.

"Let's just order in again." Ron didn't have the heart to tell her he was tired of ordering in already after only three nights here so he obliged.

They ate their food atop the bed, which was soon covered in dirty napkins and plates that Hermione made no effort to clean up. Ceding control of the remote to her, he rolled off the bed to pick up the remnants of their dinner. The advertisements on the telly played loudly, advertising everything from crisps to automobiles to home insurance. He imagined none of it could be terribly interesting to Hermione, but she hardly seemed to be paying attention.

He encouraged her to have a wash, which she finally did under duress. But as soon as she emerged from the bathroom, she climbed on the bed and burrowed her face into his chest. Her wet hair dampened his t-shirt and he rested his chin atop her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo as it flooded his nostrils. Vanilla and orchids, just like he'd told Charlie.

"We're not even halfway through the list," he finally spoke, but her only response was to nestle her face deeper into the folds of his shirt. Ron moved his hand beneath her blue cotton pyjamas then, his long fingers rubbing her bare back tenderly. "We'll find them," he assured. He couldn't tell whether it was his words or his touch that she responded to, but she pressed her lips to his neck then. Instinctively, he lowered his head so his mouth could meet hers.

They fell asleep without bothering to climb under the covers. Ron wasn't sure when they made their way beneath them. He wasn't sure when he removed his shirt. He reckoned he must have grown hot in the middle of the night as he figured he'd recall something like Hermione taking his own shirt off. All he knew is he woke up in the middle of the night bare-chested atop the covers with her pyjama-clad form nestled against him.


	34. Chapter 34

Three days sharing a hotel room and her words their first night were becoming harder and harder to recall. He'd wanted clear-cut guidelines that first night, a formal list of the places he could touch her and the places he couldn't, clothing he could remove and the articles that had to remain on at all times. Hermione hadn't given him an answer then and he was starting to understand why. Every day it was different. Every day they explored a little more. And it was natural and he wasn't so worried anymore about when it would happen. She wanted it to, of that he was aware, and that was enough for now.

With the memory of what they'd done on the sofa yesterday afternoon clear in his mind, the first thing he did upon awakening was slide his hand up her sleep shirt.

"I'm touching your boob," he laughed in playful disbelief.

"Breast," she corrected, her eyebrows sloped into a frown at his choice of words.

"Boob," he maintained.

"You're a boob," she reached back with her arm to elbow him in the ribs.

"Play nice!" Ron gave her a gentle squeeze. He could feel her chest rise and fall with laughter beneath his hand and she quickly kicked at the covers and turned toward him, her lips reaching toward his for a kiss. Ron obliged, his hand still working beneath her shirt, toying with her nipple. He felt her smile against his mouth and he traced her smile with his tongue. She didn't comment on his lack of a shirt and seemed to enjoy the sight of his bare chest.

He wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to have the strength to roll off the bed and toss her the beaded bag to begin day three in their search for the Grangers. Somehow he did it. He pulled his hand away, swung his legs over the side and tried to find some clean clothes to start the day.

"Do you want to stay here and call again today? We got through quite a bit yesterday," he reminded her how they were now over a third of the way through the list.

"No," she replied sharply and Ron hoped she couldn't hear the sigh of relief at the words. While he had certainly enjoyed some things that had happened in the room yesterday, the delightful memory of removing her bra still vivid in his memory, he was anxious for a change of scenery after being stuck in the hotel all day. It was like being stuck at Grimmauld Place again. Except this time nothing was waiting outside the door except another day of disappointment. He knew that was why she was dragging her feet as they got ready for the day.

Ron used the opportunity to study all the papers they had accumulated. They had the regular map of Brisbane, the list of Apparation points and the list of practices they'd organised by location two days ago at the track. Ron could hardly believe it had been two days of searching already. Seizing the short stubby self-inking quill Hermione used yesterday, Ron began plotting all the practices they had yet to journey to on the map, comparing it with the magical map Leland gave them that showed where they'd already traveled.

"So it looks like we can pick up at Grinstead Park and move south if you want to get through the city centre today."

"That sounds fine," she replied absentmindedly as she ran a brush through her hair.

"Or we could work from the Apparition point at Ferny Grove and move east." He scrunched up his face as he studied the map.

"Whatever you want."

"Well, you know the city better than me."

"I trust you." The words would usually delight Ron, but he was struck by how dismissive they seemed now. His eyes fixed on her as she reached to pull on a cardigan, paying careful attention to her left forearm. He knew she could see him looking at her and he was curious how she would react after yesterday. She hesitated slightly, but continued to pull it on, ignoring his disappointed gaze.

The search for the Grangers began at Grovely Family Dentistry and it was evident from the moment he asked where they went from there that Hermione had lost the initiative completely. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and chalk her slow progress up to her lack of sleep. She'd tossed and turned beside him all night and he'd heard the murmurings he was now sadly growing used to. It was most definitely his name that she said and he felt bad ignoring her, but the memory of her terror on the train stopped him from trying to wake her. He wondered how he could possibly tell her about them, or if he should even tell her at all.

After an hour of rejection, they rested on a concrete bench while Ron pored over the assortment of papers. He still had difficulty keeping track of all of them.

"So the closest Apparition point from here is...Alderley, it looks like." He switched back and forth between the maps.

"Okay."

"But there are two practices between here and there that we'd miss if we Apparated there." He double-checked the list.

"Okay."

"Which means we'll basically have to walk to Alderley anyway."

"Okay."

"It's like a little over 3 miles maybe," Ron continued, ignoring her bland replies and focusing instead on today's mission. "That'll take, what, like an hour to walk? Oi! There's got to be a quicker way," he grumbled, ruffling his hand through his hair in frustration. Hermione said nothing and he began studying the maps anew, growing more and more irritated each time he glanced back and forth between them. "These Apparation points are so fucking stupid!" He exploded, throwing the Ministry list to the pavement, exasperated with the regulations. Clearly not sharing his frustration and not minding his choice of words, Hermione just sat silently on the step. "If we could just Apparate straight to them all we'd be done with the whole city in like two hours!"

"There's a lot of dentists. It would take longer than two hours," she stated plainly.

"Well, we'd be done in a day," Ron counted. She didn't reply and for at least ten minutes they just sat there in silence. This was on him now, he knew. It wasn't just bold promises and blanket assurances they'd find her parents anymore. It wasn't wrestling matches and playful flirting to distract her either. If he didn't stand up right now and continue the search, he reckoned she'd stay on this bench all day. This wasn't just a mission. This was his mission now.

He watched a great white bus rumble by and recalled sitting on a bench much like this one in a rainy Dijon square seeing the buses come and go and listening to Hermione explain how they worked. Buses transported Muggles all over the city. Their color coded routes and numbers stretched to each corner and criss-crossed the entire area.

"That's it!" He climbed to his feet then and looked up to a large bus stenciled with the letters BBL that was stopped at a traffic light. "Brisbane Bus Line, that's it! We'll get the bus!" He hoisted Hermione to her feet and began running down the pavement chasing after the bus.

She obliged him, but her legs weren't moving as fast as he knew they could go.

"Come on, slowcoach!" he tried to tease. "Or do you need me to carry you?"

His playful banter could still yield a smile and she picked up her pace then.

He had a knack for navigating the city and with the help of the Brisbane bus lines and his newfound navigational skills, they were able to visit twice as many offices as their first day out in the city. He was doubtful Hermione was even aware where they were in the city, but still he yammered on and included her in the plans.

"So if we get the green line that'll finish the northern suburbs and we can visit these two here and then take…right, then we'll be by – yes, and we can Apparate to Fortitude Valley and visit these four," he reasoned and he looked to her for confirmation even though he was quite sure he wouldn't get any. "Sound good?" She offered a weak smile in reply and he just squeezed her hand. "Now the question is, do you trust me to pay the bus fare this time?" he tried for a joke.

"Can we go back to the hotel?" she asked weakly.

"What's wrong?" Ron frowned at her.

"I don't feel well," she informed. Ron could see right through her lie, but he didn't call her on it.

"That's probably because you didn't eat breakfast," he chided. "Come on, we can stop and eat lunch." He nodded toward a sandwich bar down the street.

"No, it's – it's not my stomach. It's - it's my head." She was a terrible liar and er stammering gave her away, but still Ron played along.

"We'll sit for a spell then."

"No, Ron - "

"I can kiss it and make it better?" He sidled up to her and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, which got at least a smile out of her, before sitting down on the bench and tugging on her hand to join him. "We have to keep looking," he stated firmly. She didn't say anything in agreement, but he saw her eyes were fixed on the magical map from Leland. Nearly half the map was now full of red lines that showed where they had been already.

By nightfall, they'd exhausted the northern half and were south of the river. Ron coordinated their travels so they could Apparate directly to the hotel, but Hermione had reminded him the hotel staff, who seemed to take note of their apparently high profile guests, would find their absence unusual. So they took the purple Doomben line, departed at the South Bank stop and walked down the Promenade to the hotel where they were both greeted by name.

Hermione was quiet as they traveled the 28 floors up to their room. She slid next to him when they were joined by other passengers and he moved his hands around her waist instinctively, but as soon as the other passengers departed, so did she. There was the distance again.

"Why don't you relax and have a shower, eh?" He pulled the beaded bag off her shoulder when they finally walked through the door.

"What are we going to do about dinner?" she sounded wearily.

"I can go get dinner," he dismissed casually like it was something he did everyday. "You relax here. I – I can even draw a bath for you, if you want," he offered, quite confident baths were supposed to help in situations like this.

"You're going to get dinner?" she looked to him skeptically, completely ignoring the offer for a bath.

"Sure." He rooted through her beaded bag for his wallet.

"Have you any idea how the money works?"

"Haven't a clue." He grinned at her, recalling how lunch today had gone when he'd attempted to figure out how much to leave by himself. This time she managed to smile back at him.

"Do you know how to work the room key?"

"Think I can manage." He pulled the small piece of plastic out as well and shoved it into his pocket with his wand. He moved a hand behind her head and kissed her once firmly on the mouth. "I'll be right back. You relax!"

He didn't realise until he was travelling down in the lift that he'd left her all alone. It was the first time he'd done that in weeks. Even back at the Burrow when he'd said goodnight, she was at least sharing a room with Ginny. He was leaving her all alone in a hotel in a foreign city and he'd forgotten to put the charms on the door. As soon as he reached the lobby, he pushed the button to go right back up to their room, but he laughed at himself as the doors of the lift opened again before him.

He supposed this was part of being normal again. He could leave Hermione alone. They weren't being hunted anymore. He could do things on his own and so could she.

He actually enjoyed walking down the street, trying to find something Hermione would eat. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her behaviour. He'd never seen Hermione avoid a problem before. He'd never known her to give up and quit. But here they were on day three of searching and that's exactly what she was doing. She didn't eat during the day, she rarely laughed. The only times she seemed happy were up in the hotel room and then the only thing she seemed to want to do was snog him.

He had few complaints there. Their first few innocent kisses up in his bedroom seemed like ages ago. Now it was all groping hands, probing tongues, and a desperate, almost palpable, desire. He seriously doubted his efforts to be a gentleman and remember her words about needing time would last much longer. Trying to exercise reason when she was moaning against him was a nearly impossible task. He doubted anyone would be able to do it.

"I bought kebabs!" he announced as he marched triumphantly back into the hotel room after a half hour wandering the city streets. It would mark the second time in as many days they would eat kebabs and he hoped she wouldn't mind. She had introduced the delicious food to him for dinner yesterday and he'd liked them so much he'd bought them for supper from a street vendor.

There was a delay in her response and when her voice came it sounded shakier than he would have liked.

"I'll be right out."

"You all right?" He called through the door, making no effort to hide the concern in his voice.

"Yes, I - I just stepped out of the shower."

"Okay," he replied dubiously. "Don't let the kebabs get cold." He set them on the table and picked up the remote in an attempt to work the television. He powered it on just fine and after a slight mishap was able to find the channel that reported the weather. "I think I've officially mastered the telly!" he called out triumphantly. Again, there was a slight pause to her response and Ron thought he could hear a sniffle.

"Great."

"You going to come eat kebabs?" he asked again.

She told him she was just toweling off, but minutes passed and she did not step out of the bathroom. He got to his feet and rapped on the door with his knuckles again.

"I'm fine, Ron!" Her voice sounded shakier than ever. "I'll be out in a moment."

"Hermione." Ron's hand turned the doorknob.

"No, don't come in! I'm – I'm not dressed!" she stammered in protest, but he pushed the door open anyway. She was seated on the tile floor in nothing but her towel with her knees hugged to her chest. The sight of her long legs and bare shoulders were the farthest thing from his mind, though.

She was crying.

Or she had been crying. Her red-rimmed eyes were puffy and wet and he wondered how long she'd been like that.

"I'm fine." She tried to laugh and wipe a tear off her cheek with the heel of her hand.

"You're a horrible liar." He reached down to help her to her feet.

"No, Ron, please! I'm – I'm not dressed," she mumbled, pulling up the towel in embarrassment. Her reluctance only made him feel worse.

All week back at the Burrow she pretended she was okay for him, their first couple days in this city she'd pretended she knew exactly what to do, even now she continued to pretend that she was fine. He was suddenly reminded of her confession upstairs in his bedroom the day of his brother's funeral and the tears that had dripped down her face as she confessed that one of the reasons she loved being with him so much was because it made her forget.

Ron realised, with more than a hint of guilt, that he'd been quite selfish. When she'd made the declaration over a week ago, he hadn't even stopped to think about the things Hermione wanted to forget, and not just the carvings on her arm and whatever lay under the bandage. She was facing what seemed to be the very real prospect of never finding her parents. He'd promised his mum he would take care of her, but all he had really done was protect her. Taking care of her was different.

He hadn't meant to ignore her. She was just Hermione. He'd defended Hermione and protected her, but he'd never really taken care of her. She was the girl who made revision timetables and filled out his homework planner, reminded him to brush his teeth and pack enough pairs of pants. She took care of herself, or at least she'd always given him that impression. She'd guided them to the other side of the world from a point where they quite literally had no idea where they were. She'd gotten them to Brisbane, the city where she'd hidden her parents. But now they were here and Ron suddenly realised it had all been a façade. Even her behaviour at the Burrow had been a disguise. Behind all she had done to comfort him, there had been this. This fragile, scarred, emotional wreck huddled on the floor in her towel. This wasn't a new side of Hermione. It had been there all along. She'd covered it all up for him. She'd hidden it all to keep him together.

He held out his hands to pull her to her feet and, reluctantly, she accepted.

"We're going to find them," he assured her as he hugged her tightly and smoothed down her wet hair. She offered no reply, but he could feel her body shake with a tiny sob. "It's only been three days." He tried lamely for some words of comfort. He didn't know what else to say and he wasn't sure what to do besides hold her. He couldn't hear her crying, but he knew she was. She gripped him tightly, her hands reaching upwards toward his shoulders like he would somehow float away if she let go. They stood in the bathroom silently holding each other until Ron's stomach grumbled loudly, causing them both to break apart and laugh.

"Sorry." He gave her a lopsided grin, glad to see he could still make her smile, albeit unintentionally.

"I should get dressed." She stepped back, suddenly seeming to remember all she was wearing was a towel. She inched the towel up her chest self-consciously.

"Will you come out and eat kebabs?"

"Yes."

"I may have overpaid a bit for them," he confessed. "The bloke selling them helped me figure it out." Ron pulled out a wad of change from his pocket and held it in front of Hermione.

"Then you most definitely overpaid for them," she laughed again between sniffles.

"You'll come out and eat though?"

"Yes, I have to get dressed."

"Well, for what it's worth, I wouldn't mind if you just wore the towel," he flirted, finally taking a moment to ogle how long her legs looked.

"I'll come out and eat," she assured him with a nod of the head. He smiled triumphantly and she reached for his shirt when he did, touching her lips to his.

Smiling, he returned to the bed and spread the foil-wrapped flatbread out. When she finally emerged from the bathroom, they ate the kebabs right atop the bed just like they had eaten dinner every night so far in Australia. They'd been messier than the ones they'd eaten last night and Ron's difficulty eating them, indicated by the yogurt and tomato juice dribbling down his chin, though unintentional made her laugh, but the meal was largely silent.

"I don't remember the last thing I said to them," she finally murmured, her eyes staring out the window to the skyline while Ron cleaned up the napkins and wrappers from the bed. "I remember the last thing I said to Wendell and Monica Wilkins, but…they weren't my parents." Ron frowned at the gloomy and final way she spoke the words, as if her parents were dead and gone the same way Fred was. "Have a safe trip. That's what I said to the Wilkins." Her laughter faded to a cackle as she continued to stare blankly ahead. Ron wrestled with what to say next. She was trying to talk about her parents, something she'd hardly done at all in the past year. Truthfully, she had never talked about her parents much at all. In all the time they spent at Hogwarts, they were terribly easy to forget about.

"It was a good thing to say," he assured, not knowing what else was appropriate.

"Thank you, dear," she gave a bizarre strangled laugh then. "That's what they said back to me. That's the last thing they said to me. Thank you." She hung her head, looking suddenly shameful. For the first time, he could see how deep her guilt ran over what she'd done to them and he felt so foolish for not realising it sooner. He'd thought her glum behaviour today had mostly been about not finding them. Only now did he realise it was so much deeper.

"You saved their lives, Hermione," Ron reminded her of the important reality she seemed to be forgetting. Countless Muggle families had been executed in horrifying fashion. His own family had been forced to go on the run. Her parents would have perished had she not taken the action she had, of that he had no doubt. He could tell from the expression on Hermione's face that she did not feel so certain though. "They'll thank you again."

"Thank me?" she laughed. "Even if we do find. I - I wiped their memories." Her voice was shaky and ridden with guilt. "I violated them," she stammered. "Your mother's right. That was never my choice to make - "

"Mum's not right," he stated flatly. "She was just thinking about Fred - "

"If you did something like that to me, I'd never forgive you," she shot suddenly.

"Yes, you would," he stated calmly.

"No, I wouldn't. If you altered my memories - "

"If I fucked with your head to keep you safe and save your life you would not," he scoffed, hardly realising that he was beginning to raise his voice.

"I would!"

"You would not!" he shot back and then took in a calming breath, trying to remember what they were fighting about in the first place. "You'd be angry, yeah, and you'd probably smack me around a bit." She rolled her eyes at the reference to how she'd greeted his return this winter. "But you're too sensible to be angry for long. You'd understand. Your parents will understand too."

"But I could have died." Her voice lost the argumentative tone and she sounded small and sad again.

"You didn't."

"I could have," she stated matter-of factly. She pursed her lips then as if recalling a specific memory and her voice grew even quieter. "I thought I was going to."

Ron knew instinctively that she wasn't talking about being killed while dueling Death Eaters or battling for her life at Hogwarts. She was talking about dying alone on a cold stone floor at the hand of a sadist who'd just as soon bleed her with a knife as she would kill her with a wand. It marked the first time she'd voluntarily mentioned what had happened to her. But now that she was finally talking about it, he found he didn't have the slightest idea what to say.

He wanted to be strong and tell her that was crazy talk. He wanted to assure her that she'd never been in danger of dying. He wanted to tell her that he'd die himself before he allowed that to happen, but he recalled all too clearly the sheer terror that had gripped him at the thought that he and Harry wouldn't get to her in time. He'd thought about it, pictured it in his mind even, that they'd finally break out of the cellar only to find Hermione's bloodied, mangled corpse.

"I thought I was going to die and…all I could think about was you." Ron could hear the guilt in her voice. "All I could think was that I'd never see you again." Her emphasis on the pronoun was obvious. "Not my mum or dad. You." Her voice shook with emotion, but her eyes fixed on him. "So what kind of a daughter does that make me?" There was a shimmering of tears present that she surprisingly didn't try to blink away. Ron was again at a loss for words. He wanted to take care of her, but he didn't know how to comfort her. He didn't want to talk about himself. He didn't want to make this all about him, but her feelings were far too familiar. He hadn't thought about Fred at all through the Battle. Sure, he'd worried about his whole family all year on the run, but in that moment when the smoke had cleared, he hadn't looked for his brother first. He'd looked for Hermione.

He couldn't tell her that though because he refused to make this about himself. He couldn't compliment her like he usually did in such uncomfortable situations either and he certainly couldn't make a joke. So he did the only thing left to him he knew how. He kissed her.

He was afraid at first she might react the same way she had at Krum's when he'd drunkenly tried to end a conversation with a kiss. The way she responded, however, made it seem as if she was quite hoping that would be his reaction. Her mouth came alive against his in a manner so forceful he wondered if perhaps she was retracting what she'd said days ago about waiting. She fisted her hands in his hair and forcefully pulled his mouth to hers. Snogging seemed to be her remedy for dealing with grief as well.

The thought occurred to Ron that perhaps he ought to stop her, the same way she'd stopped him up in her bedroom days ago. She'd known then that his actions had more to do with Fred. The same way he had more than a hunch that the aggressive way her tongue was now probing his mouth had more to do with what she'd just been talking about than how much she wanted him. Snogging him was easier than dealing with any of the emotions tied to her torture or hiding her parents.

Still Ron deepened the kiss, pulling her more firmly against him. He wouldn't deny her a release, a temporary escape from thoughts he knew had plagued her more than she'd ever let on. She'd thought of him in those moments, those moments he'd been screaming for her, sobbing her name and pounding the walls with desperation. He wondered if Harry had ever told her how undone he'd been, how he'd tried to Apparate without a wand.

She was the one who pressed him back to the bed. He tried not to act surprised when she threw her leg over his lap, straddling him up on her knees, never breaking the seal of their mouths. He knew she could feel him pressing into her, too; it would be impossible not to in their current position. She didn't shy away like she had back in Henley and she didn't open up her mouth and start asking him if he'd done this with Lavender or tell him she was confused and needed time. She was kissing back desperately now and feeling every inch of him in a manner so suggestive Ron could not help but think about how amazing it would actually feel to be inside her.

He shed his shirt quickly. Every time she'd seen him shirtless this year, with the exception of the natural way it had happened last night, he'd been nervous about his pink nipples and pale, freckly body. As she reached out to touch his chest with her fingertips now, though, he felt no such reservations. She traced a line across his heart, her fingers moving almost reverently across the skin. He'd been proud of how much he'd muscled up last year from all the hours spent practicing Quidditch, but he'd lost that definition this year. He was much skinnier now, reminding him more of his thirteen-year-old self than what he'd been last year as starting Keeper. A few weeks at Shell Cottage and a week at the Burrow hadn't been able to make up for nearly a year living off mushrooms. The definition in his abdomen and chest was gone and he was pretty sure she could still count his ribs if she wanted. She hardly seemed to mind though and she smiled at her own boldness in touching him, biting her bottom lip in a manner so inviting, Ron just had to move in to kiss it. His hands worked deftly to remove her bra, unfastening the clasp much quicker than he had yesterday.

He reached for her shirt next and locked eyes with her momentarily, as if for assurance. She moved her hands over his and together they lifted it up over her head. Ron felt his heart rattle erratically behind his ribs. He recalled her words about responsibility and forethought about being together eventually, down the road. Maybe three days in Australia had changed her mind. Maybe something inside her had changed. He didn't know. All he knew was what he saw and felt and that was Hermione getting naked before him.

Ron tried hard not to stare. He'd spent the last two weeks feeling them, but looking at her breasts was something else entirely. They were much paler than the rest of her body, nearly as pale as his freckled chest, but her nipples much darker than his. Years he had spent, trying to imagine what they would look like- the size, the shape, even the slope- and now he was looking at her and everything he'd ever imagined paled in comparison. They were modestly small, soft and round with the perfect swell. She didn't allow him to look for long and immediately crossed her arms across her chest, like she was seriously rethinking the decision to shed her shirt.

Ron took hold of her wrist and gently pulled her arm away. He raised a hand tentatively to the small mound of flesh like he had yesterday beneath her shirt, delighting in the feel of her hard nipple as he grazed his thumb over it. Then he leaned forward and captured her lips in a kiss.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he breathed against her. For once, she hardly seemed to mind his language and her hands wrapped around him as she forgot her nervous hesitation. She drew him to her then as they sat upright on the bed clinging to each other.

He could feel the peaks of her nipples grazing against him and he loved the close feeling of their bare chests against each other. She seemed to revel in the closeness of being together without the layers of clothing as well. Her fingernails raked up and down his bare back until suddenly she began to twist against him. Yesterday she'd done this and he'd been worried he had done something wrong. Now he knew she was simply changing positions. He couldn't help but grin at her own boldness and the initiative she took as she lay down and carefully repositioned herself between his legs.

He knew she wanted to feel him and he felt his heart pounding beneath his chest, sending what felt like all the blood in his body between his legs. He was straining against his trousers and his hips moved in a slow and rhythmic manner at first that matched the movement of their mouths. She shifted slightly beneath him and her own hips rose to meet his, increasing the friction between them as he began to move uncontrollably faster. He wasn't pressing into her thigh anymore. Through the layers of clothes, he knew he was pressing into her.

Ron fought against the Wrackspurts that threatened to cloud his brain and his breathing grew more ragged. He wanted to tear her trousers off. He wanted to squeeze and grab and suck and lick. He wanted to get naked and be inside her. He wanted her now in a way that made every other time he thought he'd wanted her pale in comparison. He'd thought about sex with her before, of course, but never actually pictured the act. He'd never thought about how it would happen or who would be on top or what it would actually feel like to be a part of her.

He thought about Harry's teasing words, of George and Charlie and Ginny, even of his father's assumptions. Everybody already thought they were and he wanted her and she wanted him. Their days exploring, the past three nights of sleeping together, their conversation in the bathroom...whatever it was, something had changed in her.

He knew what it was, of course. Deep down, he knew the real reason she seemed to be throwing caution to the wind. She was escaping, forgetting about her parents, the guilt of what she'd done, and the hopelessness of finding them the same way he liked forgetting about Fred back at the Burrow. But maybe she needed to escape the same way he did. Maybe this was the kind of release she needed. Maybe he needed to do this so he could bring back the Hermione who made itineraries and checklists and who always had a plan. And yet he found his hands were stopping their now wonderfully familiar movement over her breasts. Hiding hadn't helped him deal with anything and it wouldn't help her.

"We should…stop." He hardly believed the words as they sounded breathily against her skin. He was the one stopping.

Things really were upside down in Australia.

"What's wrong?" Hermione frowned. Ron called upon the last bit of rational thought and willpower he had left as he recalled the conversation that had preceded their activity. She had been in tears. She'd been nearly catatonic for most of the day. He couldn't make it happen like this.

"You're…upset," he reminded her.

"I'm not upset." The conversation sounded much too similar to the exchange up in her bedroom after he'd cried into her chest.

"You were." He withdrew his hands, feeling guilty for reminding her, but knowing it was true. "I just…" Buggering fuck, Ron couldn't believe he was about to say this. "I just don't want you to do stuff because you're upset."

No, I don't. I take it back. I want you to do all the stuff.

"It's not just because I'm upset," she maintained. She licked her lips then and looked down at the mattress then as she spoke the next words with a slight stutter. "I…I want you."

He stammered wordlessly for a rebuttal, eyes still drinking in the sight of her. She made no effort to put a shirt on and he had trouble trying to have a rational conversation with her sitting there topless. Desperately, he tried to remind himself that her eyes were still red-rimmed. That she'd been silently sobbing against him back in the bathroom. He wanted to show her he could be responsible, to exercise forethought just like she'd said to him the last time they'd moved against each other like this. God knows he wanted her. The tightness in his pants was overwhelming.

"I shouldn't have - I just - I'm sorry," he apologised shamefully and then got stiffly up from the bed, hoping she wouldn't say anything about the erection she'd just felt and could now very clearly see.

"Ron?" She pulled herself into a sitting position, still not bothering to pull her shirt back on.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, shuffling toward the bathroom.

"If I didn't want it to happen, believe me, it wouldn't have happened," she stated firmly. There was a confident and haughty tone to her voice that he loved. She was right, of course. Hermione Granger was more than capable and she would certainly stop him at any time if she wanted. "That felt good," she admitted with a laugh, pulling her knees to her bare chest. "Really good." 

"Yeah?" Ron tried not to look so surprised, though he made a note to catalogue her words. He'd put them with the same ones she'd spoken to him this last week, the collection of words he felt like he'd waited years to hear. It's always been you. I want you. I love you. That felt good.

"Come back and sit." She looked to the empty space on the bed beside her.

"I need to have a shower."

"Can't you stay and sit?" she frowned. "We can just…talk." Ron wondered by this point if she'd completely forgotten she was still topless.

"I need to have a shower if we're not going to..." he repeated, glancing down at the large bulge between his legs. He felt like he was about to explode and hoped she would catch his drift like yesterday morning without him having to spell it out.

"Oh." Hermione looked away then, appearing equally embarrassed. Funny, how what they were indirectly discussing hadn't been an issue for the last fifteen minutes when she'd been grinding her hips against his erection, but now it was. "Okay."

"Sorry," Ron apologised, hardly believing how disappointed she looked.

"It's fine." He wondered if Hermione was thinking about whatever book she'd accidentally admitted to reading back on the train as she nodded her head in understanding.

"I can come sit after, you know, if you want," he offered lamely, hardly believing how disappointed she seemed that he'd halted things. That's what she had wanted after all. He grabbed his clothes and walked toward the enormous bathroom. She had talked about forethought and preparation and responsibility. He was just trying to do all those things. He just wanted to be the man she deserved. He knew Hermione meant what she said the other night about not being ready. He knew the day's frustrations had weighed on her.

He also knew perfectly well how many things kissing and feeling Hermione helped him to forget. He knew it made her forget too. She'd even confessed it to him the morning of the funeral. Still, he wondered as he tugged on his cock in the shower, if he'd erred. He couldn't help but think that he'd fucked up and it could be Hermione doing this instead of him. She clearly wasn't sure what she did or didn't want. She told him one thing and then went and said another. He felt the familiar intense pressure building up inside him as he thought about Hermione and the feel of her breasts beneath his palms.

Yet another night polishing his knob in the shower while Hermione sat right outside. This time she knew exactly what he was doing behind the door though. This time she'd been straddling him and grinding up against him moments before. Fuck, she'd said she wanted him. They'd been half naked on the bed and she'd scratched her nails against his skin and gotten upset when he'd stopped. He thought about Hermione outside the door and wondered if she was thinking about him. They'd been close tonight, closer than they'd ever been. At the memory, he felt his whole body relax with his release and he leaned against the wall of the shower for several minutes while the water ran down.

The thought of returning outside to her after having a wank felt strange tonight. He'd done it countless times before, but never had it been so obvious. Never, to his knowledge, had she known he was doing it. Never had she protested his departure. Fuck it all, he was such a twat for stopping. He took several minutes after he'd dressed to compose himself and attempt to look natural. He knew he shouldn't be uncomfortable. This would be a part of their relationship now, especially if they weren't going to be having sex any time soon. He should get used to it. She should get used to it.

"Feel better?" she asked when Ron emerged from the bathroom and he immediately felt his ears burn at the leading question. She too, appeared to pink slightly. "I just mean – we did a lot of walking today. A shower must have felt good," she clarified, but Ron swore she was staring at his crotch as she spoke the words.

She'd put her pyjamas back on and was now resting comfortably beneath the covers. He wasn't sure whether they were supposed to talk about what had happened now, either on the bed or in the bathroom. He struggled for something to say.

"Do you want me to turn the thermometer down?" he blurted out the first thing he could recall.

"Thermostat," she corrected. "And no, I'm fine."

"Do you want anything to drink?" He glanced back to the kitchen, unsure why he was so nervous, but suddenly feeling very apprehensive about returning to the bed. Sharing a bed when was way more complicated than he'd ever imagined.

"I'll have a glass of water."

"Okay." He walked out to the kitchen to grab two glasses to fill with water, cursing himself for being so nervous all of a sudden. They'd shared a bed for three nights. He didn't understand why tonight, after everything that had just happened, he was suddenly nervous again.

He wasn't even that sleepy. He'd probably just lie awake beside her all night, cursing his own idiocy at stopping things. She didn't seem too tired either and was still sitting up in bed when he returned. He wondered if she wanted to talk about it some more. The prospect unnerved him and he grabbed the maps on the beside table and began busying himself with them.

"How many more do we have to get through tomorrow?" she inquired.

"There's about...seventy more to go." He looked at the list.

"That's not too bad."

"They're all on this side of the river too."

"Thank you," she murmured suddenly.

"Yeah, no problem." He figured she was talking about his research.

"No, not for that - thank you for that too, but I mean...for tonight. Before. You're right." Her words came out in a slow halting fashion. Here it came. They were going to talk some more about it. Ron didn't trust himself to make it through another conversation about all this without saying something stupid. "I - I was upset," she continued, "and I suppose things were getting a bit…intense."

"Intense in a bad way?" he asked, a bit afraid to hear the answer.

"I don't know," she admitted with an innocent shrug. "Is that okay?"

"Well, I don't think I've ever heard you say that before," Ron mused.

"Say what?"

" 'I don't know!' "

"Well, I don't know." He was glad to see her laugh as well. "This all…with you…it's…" The slower her words came the more captivated he grew. "It's intense."

"I suppose."

"It is! I mean one week ago I – I was still nervous kissing you and tonight I…" She pulled her arms across her chest instinctively at the memory of what they'd done. He could see she looked embarrassed.

"You're beautiful," he murmured and he was pleased to see her arms slowly drop on their own at his words. "I'm not just saying it 'cause I want another look either," he joked. He touched her arm softly then, running his fingertips back and forth across the pink scars that criss-crossed them. "You're gorgeous." She gave a bashful smile and when she said nothing in reply he tried for another joke. "Oh, you're quite fit too, Ron! I've never seen someone with so many freckles before."

"You're amazing," she stated in a manner so confident it reminded him of the way she answered questions in McGonagall's class. Ron felt his breath catch in his throat at the surprisingly straightforward words. She snuggled her body up to his in comfortable familiarity then and reached to turn off the light. He wanted to ask if what she'd said the first night in the hotel was still true and whether she'd changed her mind at all, but he just reached beneath her shirt. He saw her smile when his hand rested comfortably atop her breast. Then she moved her own hand over his and placed it over her heart.

He understood.

They were intense. This situation was intense. The two of them, barely able to keep their hands off each other, living together in a foreign city. This was why his mum didn't want him to go to Australia. She had known this would happen. He felt closer to Hermione than he ever had to anyone in his life, and it wasn't just because he had his hand up her shirt. They were talking about things, things he never thought he'd talk about with her. He was comfortable with her in a way he'd never been with anybody. Part of him was afraid that he'd never want to come home.

He dropped his mouth to her neck again, just below her ear. He hoped they would fall asleep like that, his lips pressed to her neck and their hands clasped atop her breast. It seemed a long way from that night in Grimmauld Place they'd first fallen asleep holding hands, yet at the same time little had changed. She was his and he was hers and he was starting to realise it had always been that way.

He replayed the events and the conversation from tonight over and over in his head while he watched her sleep. She'd been getting naked. They both had. She had been reaching for him and saying his name.

He told himself it was the right thing to do. She'd been upset and crying about her parents, after all. He'd done the right thing. She seemed to appreciate the fact that he had stopped. But no matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn't get past the reality that was he had had a chance to have sex tonight and he had stopped.

George was right, he was fucking pathetic.

He had no doubt that if he hadn't stopped her, their trousers would have been the next to go, followed by pants and knickers. And he'd be sleeping beside her right now knowing what it was like to feel Hermione from the inside. He watched her sleeping peacefully on her side, her body curved slightly toward him, and blew out a loud breath. It had been the right thing. He reminded himself of their conversation afterward. She was confused and things were intense and this situation was bizarre and when they stopped and talked about it, it didn't make sense.

But it had made sense then. In that moment, she'd wanted him and he'd wanted her and that had been the only thing that mattered.

And it hadn't just been the chance to have sex. He'd had that opportunity with Lavender. It was sex with Hermione. It was the two of them on the other side of the world, forgetting about everything else in their lives. It meant forgetting about his brother and the family he realised now he'd run away from, forgetting about the seemingly hopeless task of finding Hermione's parents and just taking comfort in each other like they'd both wanted to for so long.

He blew out another loud sigh as he looked to her sleeping peacefully beside him. She was sleeping in the plain vest again and even in the darkness he could see the pale pink marks on her arms and the ugly green bandage. He reached out to touch her bare shoulder and run his hand down her arm again, his fingers brushing the awful scars. She shivered slightly when he did and for a brief moment, he thought he'd woken her. Then he saw her hand clinch briefly and he steeled himself for what was to come.

He hated watching this. He doubted he'd ever get used to it.

"You're all right," he murmured softly, inching closer to her as he continued to rub his hand up and down her arm. He knew it wouldn't do anything, but he felt like he had to do something. He couldn't just sit by and watch it happen.

He had a morbid curiosity to know what exactly was haunting her dreams. Every time he watched her tremble, he was brought back to that dank cellar, and he could practically feel his bloodied knuckles and the rawness in his throat. As his fingers traced the scars on her arms, he wondered if that's what had driven her screams that day. He'd always assumed it was just the Cruciatus Curse, but now he was tormented by the thought of Hermione being subject to even more cruelty as he looked to the scars. "You're fine," he breathed the words against her, his forehead pressed to hers.

And then there it was, his name, as clear as day. It was a plaintive pitiful sound and she shifted slightly, tilting her head back as she uttered it. He heard her say it though, his name coming from her lips.

The next time she said it her whole body moved closer toward him. She stretched out her arm, the one that had just been trembling and her hand found him in the dark. She took a handful of his shirt between her fingers and gave another faint whimper. Her breathing grew shallower.

"It's me," he whispered and he dared to wrap his arm around her then. He prepared himself for her to wake up with a start like she had on the train, to panic, not knowing where she was or who she was with. Instead, she moved closer to him, her arm snaking around his back and squeezing tightly. When she continued to tremble against him and a pained murmur sounded again from the back of her throat, he moved a large freckled hand over the bandage on her forearm. He breathed her name into her neck again and the tremors came to an end.


	35. Chapter 35

Ron had longed to have a lie in for months. He had dreamt about it nearly every morning this year when he'd had to wake to maintain the fire or take over watch. Most mornings he'd had to get up before the sun was even up yet. He'd thought about nothing but curling under the covers and sleeping until noon. He'd wake up to the smell of bacon frying. He'd be a lazy sod the entire morning and nobody would criticize him for it because he deserved it. He deserved to lie in bed all day and not worry about gathering food for their next meal or the safest place to travel to next. But for all the times he'd pictured doing just this he never dared to dream Hermione would be there in the bed next to him.

They remembered to close the curtains last night so both had been able to sleep later than the last three mornings. Neither made an attempt to move when their eyes opened; they just grinned at each other from across the pillow. When Ron got up to use the toilet, legs and limbs tangled quickly and hands explored comfortably as soon as he returned to the bed. Ron found it difficult to believe four days ago they were still arguing about Viktor Krum and Lavender Brown.

"You still taste like kebabs," she laughed against his lips.

"I can go brush my teeth." He pretended to leave the bed.

"No, no, it's fine." She wrestled him back to her. There was no effort to start the day or commence the search for the Grangers. "I just want to stay like this. I want to stay like this all day."

"Well, we can't stay like this all day," he chided.

"Why not?" she pouted as she said the words, but appeared quite serious.

"Because we have seventy-eight more practices to visit," he reminded, biting her pouty bottom lip. Finding her parents was why they were here. Finding her parents was why they were here. He had to repeat it in his head like a mantra. Even more now that Hermione was seeming to lose sight of it.

"I wonder what they would think if they could see me," she mused then, rolling back her head as Ron continued to kiss her chin, neck, and jaw.

"They'd probably want to flay me," he muttered against her skin with a laugh.

"You've been quite the gentleman." Her fingers coiled around his shirt and she pressed her hand to his chest.

"Most of the time." He raised his head and grinned.

"You were a gentleman last night," she reminded him and she smiled as she said the words, twisting his shirt between her fingers. Maybe he had done the right thing stopping, after all.

"I suppose," he gave a sheepish grin. "Five more minutes and I probably wouldn't have been."

"Did you know my mum's the one who taught me about sex?" she blurted out and Ron's eyes bulged at the frank words. It was the first time either one had said the word outright. "You know, the mechanics of it and what goes where and how it all works," she laughed as if this was the most natural story in the world to tell.

"I - er - um - I don't think I've ever even heard my mum say the word sex," Ron stammered. Now he'd said it too.

"I remember when she first explained it - " She rolled onto her back and smiled at the memory. "I couldn't wrap my head around how anybody would ever want to do that. Why any girl would ever want…that…there…" Her voice drifted off and Ron's attention was piqued as he noticed she didn't correct herself and say how she felt about the act now. He turned to her and propped himself up on his elbow, wondering if they were actually talking about sex or if she was merely talking about her parents. The latter, like any time she talked about her parents, made him strangely uncomfortable, especially in light of last night's events. Hermione seemed to have forgotten that he'd found her balled on the floor in tears. "Third year she talked to me about boys. I reckon she could tell from my letters I was starting to fancy you and she wanted me to be careful."

"You fancied me third year?" Ron laughed in amazement, eager to steer the conversation away from her mum.

"Maybe."

"I did start to realise you had tits third year." He casually slipped his hands beneath her shirt then like he had last night and gave one a squeeze.

"Breasts," she corrected, but he couldn't help but notice that she seemed to enjoy it.

"Whatever." He grinned, pleased with himself

"Fifth year she taught me how to be safe," Hermione continued talking while his hands continued to work beneath her shirt. Still unsure whether the point of her story was her relationship with her mum or sex with him, he began nuzzling her neck, hoping it was the latter. "You know, the Muggle way. She told me that - if - if you love someone it was just a natural thing. You know, a natural part of every relationship."

"Your mum said that?" Ron dragged his lips off her a moment. He could hardly imagine his mum having that kind of conversation with Ginny.

"Mmmhmm." Hermione took his face between her hands. "Now, my dad on the other hand…"

"Let's not talk about your dad right now, eh?" He dropped his mouth to the spot on her throat he knew she liked kissed, tired of being a gentleman. "Or your mum?" His hands moved to rest low on her stomach, tracing circles and hovering dangerously low to the drawstring on her pyjamas. He could hardly believe how much had changed in four days in Australia. He could hardly believe it was already Sunday. It had been a week since they'd set off from the Burrow, a week of just the two of them.

That meant Fred had been in the ground for over a week.

Ron almost cursed aloud against her lips. He hadn't thought of his brother much at all this week. Little things would remind him of him of course, like the Muggle joke shop they'd passed yesterday and the ghastly green alligator-skin boots for sale he knew Fred would have loved. He still thought about him at random times throughout the day. But he was no longer the first and last thing that he thought about.

His lifeless face still appeared in his nightmares, but they were interspersed with Greyback's smashed head, Lavender Brown's mangled face, Peter Pettigrew strangling himself with his own hand, or more frequently than not the last three nights, Hermione's crumpled form beneath the chandelier. In a twisted way, he thought he was getting better, at least when it came to Fred. He couldn't understand why, of all the moments in the world, he had to think about him now. But he pictured his brother Apparating into the hotel room and discovering them like they were beneath the sheets. He'd say something crass, something about the way his thigh was positioned between her legs. Merlin, how he'd take the piss if he knew about this suite and the champagne and the enormous bed and the things they did on it. Ron thought about his return to the Burrow after this trip and what it would be like to return again and not have Fred there to take the piss. He wondered if George would still do it without his twin there to join in.

"So do your rules still apply?" Hermione's words, whispered against his skin, brought him back to reality.

"What rules?" He breathed the words against her, trying to shake the knowledge that his brother had been dead for two weeks and think about Hermione.

"You know, from the other night? About what we can do, you know, in bed like this?"

Ron remembered the conversation she was referring to their first night in this fancy suite. He collapsed against her as he recalled the words. He had made rules. He'd laid them down in this bed the last time she'd done exactly this. She'd teased him about no self control and he'd laid into her as well.

"I guess - I mean - " He stammered over how to ask her what he really wanted, how to inquire if last night hadn't been about her grief as much as they both thought it had and if her story about her mum was actually her way of trying to tell him she wanted to have sex with him. "They still stand if...if yours do."

He turned the query back on her. She didn't respond, just slowly raked her hands through his hair contemplatively. Taking her silence as confirmation that she still wanted to wait, he remained crushed against her, fighting the urge to say how stupid he thought this all was. They wanted each other. They loved each other. They both knew it. This was fucking stupid.

"Okay," he sighed against her, trying to be supportive and patient and all that shit that took every ounce of willpower.

"It's just I...I still think about them, my parents," she admitted quietly.

"What? Like what they'd think of all this?" he laughed, looking down at their entwined bodies beneath the sheet.

"No, I mean I think about them like when - when we're...we're..." The obvious pinkening in her cheeks gave away her stammering.

The confession was right on his lips. He wanted to admit he'd just been thinking about his dead brother moments ago too as she was grinding against him, but like last night he remained silent. This wasn't about him. It was about her. He swallowed the words about Fred and tried to be supportive. "And I feel so guilty," she breathed then and Ron could hear a despair in her voice that was all too familiar. Somehow they'd gone from a lazy morning lie in to an intense snogging session back to last night in a matter of minutes.

This was all the other stuff she was talking about. This was why she wanted to wait, he knew. This is why sex was a bad idea. She'd probably burst into tears halfway through it.

Still, he couldn't help but think this is what it would always be like. They'd always be fucked up. The things they'd endured wouldn't ever go away. Even if Hermione got her parents back, she still had to live with what she did to them and his brother would never take the piss again. This would always be their life.

"You're allowed to...feel good." He didn't mean anything suggestive by the comment and he moved a hand to her waist in support as they now lay on their sides facing each other. Her eyes closed instinctively at the intimate touch, but a look of consternation quickly followed.

"It just feels wrong," she groaned tortuously. "Because I'm not - not thinking about them and I'm not looking for them and all - all I think about, all I want is to be here with you!"

Ron tried to ignore the part where he was all she thought about and remind himself he'd confessed almost the exact same thing to Hermione barely a week ago up in the bedroom of her empty home. He tried to remember what she'd said to him then.

"That's okay," he tried lamely.

"No, it's not! They're my parents, Ron. My mum and dad. And they're out there somewhere and all I want to do is lie in bed with you and - and - "

"And?" He raised his eyebrows in question.

Hermione didn't respond. She just squeezed her eyes shut and lay back on the bed, sniffling back what he knew were tears

"You're fine," he moved his hand from her waist to her stomach, trying to soothe her. It felt like last night all over again, only this time he vowed not to take the easy way. He wouldn't just kiss her. He'd stay here with her until she calmed down and could talk about it. Maybe they could talk about it together. Maybe he didn't have to keep his own guilt hidden away.

He still felt it. The shame that he was having a grand old time Down Under with Hermione while his family was likely still in mourning on the other side of the world. He still felt things about Fred. About the last time he'd seen him and talked with him. He didn't trust himself to talk about it though. If he talked about his brother he was likely to fall apart too. Then they'd both be a fucking mess. He had to stay strong for Hermione.

"We should go," she finally stated after a good long while of lying there beside each other. She made no effort to move after she spoke.

"Okay." The clock beside the bed showed it was nearly 11 AM.

"But maybe in like ten minutes." She rolled toward him and snaked her arm around his torso.

"Okay."

"It's just nice...like this," she explained, hugging him.

"Yeah, it is," Ron agreed, moving his arm out from beneath her so he could move it around her shoulders.

"I do want to find them," she assured out of the blue.

"I know."

"It's just - I just - " she stammered.

"It's fine. We can lie in a bit longer." He gave her a supportive squeeze as she snuggled closer. He didn't know anything about relationships, but he wondered if most couples reached this point after just two weeks together. He couldn't help but feel like they were special somehow. Better than anyone else out there. Years of friendship had done this, had made it so they could lie together like this beneath the sheets and have it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

"What do you suppose Harry's doing?" he asked out of the blue, his eyes resting on the beaded bag across the room.

"What, right now?" Hermione looked confused.

"Yeah."

"Probably still sleeping," she reminded him.

"Well, right." Ron felt foolish for forgetting the time change. "It just feels weird, y'know? Being so far away. Not knowing what he's doing."

"You're not his keeper," Hermione laughed.

"I'm his best mate."

"Well, I imagine he's probably doing the same thing you are," she said, glancing down at their tangled legs. Ron blanched at the thought and then let out a derisive snort.

"Not under my mum's roof, he's not."

"I expect then he'll be doing it outside."

"Doing it?" Her choice of words set him aflame. "Are you saying Harry and my sister are doing it?"

"No more than we are," she shrugged, but the comment was hardly a comfort. They'd talked about it, discussed it so many times now he was already losing count.

"You nearly stopped my heart."

"Please, Ron, you have to get used to it," Hermione laughed. "If they haven't yet - "

"If?"

" -they will at some point."

"I'd rather not think on it," he grumbled.

"Then don't think about Harry." She patted his chest playfully.

"Don't think about Harry. Don't think about Fred - "

"Who said don't think about Fred- "

"What do you want me to think about?" he cut her off, teasing playfully.

"Me," she stated obviously.

"I don't think you want to know how often I think about you," Ron confessed with a grin.

"How often do you think about me?" He enjoyed the playful and flirtatious tone to her voice.

"All the time," he remarked without a moment's hesitation.

"All the time?"

"Yes."

"When you're eating?" she tried him.

"Yes."

"When you're sleeping?"

"Yes."

"When you're in the shower?"

"Especially when I'm in the shower." He raised his eyebrows, reminding her of the circumstances that had caused him to retreat to the shower last night.

Rolling her eyes and blushing only slightly, he felt her abdominals tighten beneath his hand as she rose up to climb out of the bed to start the day.

It was the first time she'd taken the initiative since their first full day in Brisbane and he was grateful to see a slight spring in her step. He wasn't sure whether it was simply that they'd slept later or the playful lie-in, but she seemed happy, hopeful even. He loved everything about it. He loved everything about this hotel room. He could make her happy here and he had a sudden realisation.

He was happy when he was making her happy. He was happier than he could remember being for a long time.

Yet as he watched her reach for a jumper to cover the scars on her arms, he knew their happiness was always short-lived. He was reluctant to say anything as he didn't want to ruin the jovial mood. She'd already been in tears once that morning after all and he didn't even want to think about last night. Still, he couldn't ignore it anymore. It was one more thing weighing on her, keeping her apart from him.

"You won't be needing that today. It's going to be twenty-four again.." He reached tenderly for her wrist.

"Yes, but it gets chilly down along the water."

"You've got me to keep you warm." He wrapped both arms around her from behind and kissed her neck playfully.

"But - "

"Leave it behind," he whispered against her. His long fingers wrapped around her arm as he spoke, feeling the tiny bumps and scars beneath them. He felt her shudder, but she didn't withdraw. So he moved his fingers higher up to the coarse green bandage he now realised she'd worn since Shell Cottage. She changed it twice daily, he'd figured out. Once in the morning and then right before bed. She treated it too with more than just Dr. Ubbly's, something that had a hint of rose oil and aconite. He could smell it at night when she climbed into bed. He hated that she hid it.

He stood behind her, his head craned so he was breathing warmly into her neck, and he kept his hand over the bandage as he continued to hold her. His breath came slow and deep. He didn't say anything, but he was asking her. She knew he was.

"You have to promise not to…" Both her voice and her hands trembled as she slowly turned around to face him.

"Promise not to what?"

Hermione didn't respond, but, slowly and shakily, her fingers began unwrapping the dressing. She averted her eyes from his the moment the bandage dropped to the floor and Ron's eyes rested on the ghastly wound.

At first, he didn't even realise what it was. The marks were a shockingly bright purplish-maroon color and the skin all around them was still inflamed. He felt bile rising in his throat at that sight alone before he even realized what the cuts spelled out.

MUDBLOOD

There it was, carved into her arm for all to see.

"Why's it still red like that?" Ron didn't mean for his voice to sound so panicky or his fingers to grip her arm so tightly as he seized her arm, but he couldn't help himself. The wounds themselves had closed. The skin had come together and there was no longer an open wound, but the cuts were still red and shiny, almost like a burn. "It shouldn't look like that still!" He looked down at the other scars on her arms that had healed up much better. "We have to get you to St. Mungo's!" He shouted, ignoring the fact that they were on the other side of the world from St. Mungo's and to his knowledge nowhere near a magical hospital.

"They wouldn't be able to do anything," Hermione replied, sounding surprisingly calm. "The knife was cursed. That's what Fleur says."

"Well, she's not a healer!" Ron snorted.

"Ron - " she interjected calmly.

"Why are all these healed?" He didn't mean to turn her arms over so roughly, but he couldn't help himself. The other wounds had healed up. They were just faint pink scars criss-crossing her arms.

"Because this was deeper," Hermione spoke calmly. "She – she cut deeper."

"Hermione." His voice trembled, feeling the bile rising in his throat again at the mere thought.

"I'm fine."

"Stop saying that." He set his jaw firmly. "You don't have to do that with me."

"It's why I still have this too." She ignored his protestations and calmly pointed to the small place on her neck where Bellatrix's knife had also dug into her flesh. Ron winced, recalling how the knife had supported Hermione's unconscious body. "It dug in deeper and since the blade was cursed..." Ron looked down at her forearm, the crude letters stood out sharply from the pale smoothness of her skin, making the other scars pale in comparison.

"So it'll…it'll always look like this?"

"Fleur thinks it will scar eventually, but -"

"You need to go to St. Mungo's. Fleur's not - "

"- she said it would be fine."

"She's not a healer!" Ron thundered again.

"I'm all right, Ron," she stated calmly and sucked in a deep breath.

"Then how come you're hiding it?" he finally asked after a lengthy pause. He knew she wasn't ashamed of being Muggleborn. She'd referred to herself as a Mudblood, much to his abhorrence, back at Shell Cottage. But that bad been nearly six weeks ago. And now here was the mark, still there, defacing her arm for everyone to see.

"Because it's still healing." She shrugged and moved to pick the bandages up off the floor.

"Why did you hide it from me?" He stayed her hand, unable to disguise the hurt in his voice. The question caused Hermione to swallow loudly and look away from him.

"Because I knew how you'd react," she replied meekly.

"What? Wanting you to go to St. Mungo's?" Ron replied defensively.

"Wanting to fix me," she replied quietly.

"Fix you?" He frowned at the negative connotation that there something wrong with Hermione that needed correcting.

"It'll always be there."

"We don't know that – we can go to St. Mungo's when we get back and - "

"It will always be there, Ron." Hermione looked down to her arm and at last met Ron's eyes.

His grip on her arm loosened. Softly, he moved his thumb over one of the cuts, tracing the outline of a single dark purple letter, as if rubbing it with his thumb could wipe it away. The first one looked to be the deepest by far.

"Does it hurt at all?" he asked, his voice thick with worry, just imagining Bellatrix Lestrange gleefully taking a knife to Hermione's skin.

"No," she replied immediately. He narrowed his eyes as he looked up at her, making sure she wasn't lying to him. His insides twisted about as he stared at her forearm. The wound seemed like nothing more than yet another glaring reminder of how helpless he'd been to stop her torment. He wondered if she knew how guilty he felt, whether she knew that sometimes when he was falling asleep he thought about different ways he could have saved her. He'd be faster, smarter, quicker. He'd disarm both the Malfoys first, punch Draco in the face, then take out Greyback and Bellatrix with the chandelier like Dobby had. If only he'd been as clever as the elf to think of that.

Their eyes locked for the first time during the entire exchange. And he knew they were both thinking about the Malfoys then.

"Right. Just let me - " She fiddled with the bandage and Ron saw she was making to wrap it around the wound again.

"Why are you covering it again?" he frowned and stayed her hand.

"Because it's not healed and the Muggles - they'll – they'll see."

"They won't have a sodding idea what that even means," Ron scoffed.

"But it'll...look strange," she admitted meekly, moving her hand over her arm.

"Since when do you care about how people look at you?" Ron snorted. "You're Hermione effing Granger!"

"I care about how people look at me," she mumbled softly, like she was afraid to disappoint him.

"Not to me you didn't," he confessed. "You didn't care what anyone thought when you knew all the answers our first day of Potions class, did you? Or whenever people told you your elf hats looked like wooly bladders?"

"That was just you." Hermione managed a weak smile.

"Oh, right," he grinned in a way that indicated he'd known perfectly well it was just him who'd insulted her knitting. "Point is, you've never been a person to hide from who you are."

"That's not true. I - I let Madame Pomfrey fix my teeth fourth year," she confessed guiltily.

"And I tried to get rid of some of my freckles fourth year too," Ron admitted with a laugh. "I think I only succeeded in giving myself more." He held out his freckled arm to show her the results. "But that's not what I'm talking about. I mean who you are, really." He paused for a moment, working up the courage to admit the bold words he was about to say. "What I love about you." After three days, he was still getting used to exchanging "I love you's" and the bold declaration seemed to surprise even her.

"I reckon this – all that's happened, what happened to you..." Ron touched the scar on her neck softly with the back of his index finger. She flinched, but he didn't withdraw. "It's all just a part of who we are now, that's all." Hermione sniffled and peered up at him. There was a respect he wasn't often used to seeing etched in her face.

"You know you're starting to sound like a grown up," she confessed. Her voice still sounded thick like she was stifling back tears so Ron pulled her to him again.

"Don't tell anybody."

They weren't the giggly and affectionate couple of their first morning in Australia, but they weren't the morose couple that trudged back to the hotel last night, either. They set out from the hotel with a fresh and renewed vigor to locate her parents, working together to navigate those parts of the city they had yet to explore. He could see her try valiantly not to let each unsuccessful attempt bring her down, even as the list of practices left grew shorter and shorter. Even Ron had difficulty concealing his disappointment at each negative reply from a receptionist.

"I'm afraid not."

"No, ma'am."

"No, they do not."

No matter how many different ways they answered the inquiry about whether or not Wendell and Monica Wilkins worked there, the outcome was the same. Each time, he just gave Hermione's hand a supportive squeeze. He was pleased that at least today she was squeezing it back. Last night had seemed to change things. It seemed to have brought her back to him for good. He wondered how long she'd been holding in that guilt.

Still she pressed on and only the rain clouds that appeared and began to fall on them halted their search. They attempted to continue on, but the faint drizzle soon turned into a downpour. He suggested simply taking shelter and waiting out the rain, but after ten minutes with no sign of the rainfall abating, he had difficulty arguing with her request to return to the hotel.

"You know this city better than me now," she remarked as he led them straight to the purple Cleveland bus, climbed aboard, paid the fare and led them to two empty seats.

"I doubt it," he dismissed, but he couldn't help but notice the admiring way she looked at him. "What?"

"I don't know. I just...never thought I'd see you so at ease in the Muggle world," she remarked quietly, trying to contain a tiny smile.

"It makes you happy, does it?" He remembered his realisation from that morning and grinned. "Me using these silly coins with the kangaroo on them?"

"Yes."

"And riding the bus?"

"Yes."

"Turns you on a little bit, does it?" he teased with a wag of his eyebrows. She tried to look offended at the remark, but Ron could see there was some truth to the teasing comment. She enjoyed his newfound confidence in Muggle areas. He could tell by the way she was stroking his hand atop her lap. He filed away the reminder with a smile as she yawned loudly, closed her eyes and leaned into his shoulder.

Of course, she was tired. He felt foolish for not realising that her desire to return to the hotel was likely due more to lack of sleep than the rain. She'd slept so poorly last night, constantly turning and readjusting her position in the bed. She had thrown her arm across his chest and nestled next to him, then tried retreating to the other side of the bed. Then she tried sleeping on her back, then her stomach. It was the most restless she'd ever been and he wondered if talking about what had happened to her had made it worse. Last night had been the first time she'd voluntarily mentioned the Malfoys'. He knew that had to mean something. Staring out at the river that looked almost black on this rainy day, he just wrapped an arm around her like he had last night and gave a squeeze.

The rain had slowed slightly by the time the bus reached the Southbank, but they still both got wet as they walked briskly toward the hotel. Hermione clung to his arm, leaning into it like on the bus, and he sensed she would be making no phone calls that afternoon.

Vic, the hotel worker who'd first showed them to their suite, tipped his hat to them as they entered the hotel and made the familiar walk to the lift. Ron wanted to laugh thinking about how much had changed in just a few short days. They'd been so nervous when they first walked into the South Bank Hotel, both about being in this city and around each other. He hadn't told her he loved her. They hadn't truly shared a bed. They hadn't talked about anything. He reckoned it would have taken at least another month at the Burrow to get them where four days in Australia had. This whole situation, being on their own, taking care of each other. He found it oddly thrilling.

"Why don't you go have a kip in the bedroom?" he suggested as she let out a great yawn the moment they crossed the threshold to their suite. "I can make the calls out here."

"You sure?" She yawned again.

"I'm positive." He kissed her atop her wet head and gave her a shove to the door. "Have a shower while you're at it, you're soaked."

"You are too."

"I'll be fine," he dismissed. "I reckon the sun'll be out soon enough. I'll dry off outside."

"You don't want to come and kip too?" She rubbed her eyes.

"Maybe after I finish." He reached for the list of practices left to call. "If you're still asleep."

"I won't be down long," she assured.

Two hours later Ron had only twenty practices left to call and he hadn't heard a sound from Hermione.

He wondered if she remembered her own nightmares at all, even if only in bits and fragments like he did. He hated it so much. Everything else about sleeping beside her was perfect, but every toss and turn, every time she trembled or murmured in her sleep, was a painful reminder of how he'd failed her. Just like the Mudblood scar, just like this seemingly ill-fated search for her parents.

Ron sighed and looked down to the dwindling list of practices. He took his time through the list, a pit growing in his stomach with each one he checked off. He wondered what Hermione would do when she woke up and he told her he'd made it through every single dentist in the entire Brisbane metropolitan area without so much as a hint of Wendell or Monica Wilkens. She'd been so strong today. He felt a tremendous swell of pride and respect at her familiar determination and refusal to quit. Even in the ever-increasing odds that they would not locate her parents.

Trying to summon up the same courage she had, Ron dialed the next practice on the list, readying himself for the familiar and brief exchange of words.

"Good afternoon! Rondell Family Dentistry, how can I help you?"

"Yeah, hi. I want to make an appointment. Do Dr. Wendell and Monica Wilkins work here?"

"No, they don't," the receptionist replied curtly. Ron took in a deep breath, preparing himself for the familiarities and thank yous that followed each rejection, but the receptionist cut him before he could speak: "But they used to."


	36. Chapter 36

They used to.

The words practically caused Ron's heart to stop.

"They used to?" he squeaked unexpectedly into the telephone.

"They left about two months ago."

"Two months ago?" Ron could do little more than parrot back the words of the receptionist. "Can you tell me where they live?" He finally managed a few more words. "I'm -er - we're family."

"They live in Paddington," the receptionist replied after a long pause. "One seventeen Highgate Hill."

"Hold on a tick!" Ron searched frantically for the short stubby quill Hermione used and some blank paper. "One seventeen Highgate Hill," he repeated, scribbling it down, hardly able to contain his excitement. "Great. Great. Thanks. Thanks a lot!" Ron stammered, unable to even process what he held in his hand.

They did it.

It had come to the last fifteen offices, but he found them. He found her parents.

Lying back on the sofa, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the address. He wondered where Highgate Hill even was, whether it was close to all the places they'd already traveled to across the city. Maybe they'd walked right by it. He wondered how Hermione would react when he told her their search was over. He hadn't heard a sound from behind the bedroom door since she retreated back there hours ago. Her sleep last night had been so poor that he knew he ought to let her continue resting, but he couldn't resist sharing the news.

She was asleep on her side, curled toward his half of the bed, holding his pillow between her hands when he entered the bedroom.

"Hermione," he spoke her name softly as he drew near. She was sleeping peacefully and didn't budge. Fuck, he didn't want to wake her up if she was actually sleeping well, but this really couldn't wait. She'd been waiting long enough. "Hermione." He reached out to touch her shoulder then and give her a squeeze.

When her eyes slowly opened, the first thing she did upon seeing him was smile.

"Have you come to join me finally?" Her voice was dry and scratchy, indicating she'd been sleeping a while. The playful invitation made him smile.

"Maybe in a bit."

"Come and lie down." She reached for him groggily.

"Hermione."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Hermione, I found them." He ignored her query and blurted out the news.

"What?" She rubbed her eyes again and it was then she seemed to catch sight of the piece of paper in his hands.

"I found them. Your parents. Well, I found the place they used to work at, at least. They gave me their address."

"Their address?" Her voice sounded suddenly clear as she took the piece of paper from his hands. She held it delicately, almost like it was sacred. She had something there in her hands, proof that her parents were well, or at least that they had been two months ago. "You found them." He couldn't tell whether it was a question or not.

"I found their address," he confirmed, finally sitting down on the bed beside her. "Do you want to go and see it? It's not pissing it down outside anymore." He glanced out the window to where the rain had finally ceased.

"You found them," she repeated.

"We found them," he maintained, moving his hand over hers. She paused for a moment.

"No, you found them," she clarified, "I was asleep."

"Minor detail," he dismissed, ignoring the guilt he could detect in her voice. "You're the one who got us here," he reminded. "Remember when we had no idea where we were?" He recalled the rainy Dijon square that somehow felt like so many months ago. "After that old windbag Darling sent us to - where did Kingsley say we were?"

"Nantes." She gave a small smile at the memory from a week ago. "The Portkey sent us to Nantes."

"And you got us here," he reminded her. "And now...we found them."

"We found them." She said it for the third time like she was still trying to comprehend what the words meant.

Ron knew what they meant to him. It wasn't destroying Horcruxes or saving the word, but he promised his mum he'd be there for her and the address on the paper meant he'd done it. The words meant he'd accomplished his mission.

For Hermione, the address meant she had a family again.

And yet her reaction seemed muted. She wasn't racing to put on her trainers and find the place where her parents resided. She just continued to fold and refold the tiny piece of paper in her hands.

That paper that proved her parents were alive and that they'd worked and lived in Brisbane just like she'd planned. They lived at One Seventeen Highgate Hill. All they had to do now was go to them.

"Do you want to lie down?" Hermione inquired instead of leaping to her feet.

"Don't you want to go and see them?" Ron asked with an incredulous laugh.

"Of course, I do." A scathing look accompanied her immediate reply.

"Well then, let's go." Ron motioned for them to leave, but Hermione just sunk deeper into the mattress.

"There's things I have to consider and - and logistics to think about and I - I - I - I have to practice - you know - the spell and - and - what to say - how to - I don't..." Her stammering became more and more incoherent until Ron finally squeezed her hand and cut her off.

"We'll just go see where Highgate Hill is." He tried to sound confident and calm, despite how unnerving the stammering was. He assumed this was the kind of thing she had thought about in the past five days they'd been in Australia. Hell, he figured it was the kind of thing she'd thought about all year. What would she say to her parents, how she would explain what she'd done... those were the kinds of questions Hermione Granger answered in advance. "You don't have to talk to them today. We'll just look."

"Can you lie down just for a minute?" she implored again. Though a large part of Ron knew he ought to decline, the plaintive nature of her voice was too chilling to ignore. Even in the days and weeks at Shell Cottage when she was recovering from what had been done to her he'd never seen her like this. She'd been able to focus on something then. The intricacies of their Gringotts break-in and becoming Bellatrix Lestrange had consumed her. They had to keep pressing forward, no matter how weak she'd been or how much she ought to have rested.

Now that they had time she seemed to have lost her focus.

"Okay, but you can't use me for my body," he tried for a joke as he slid his hips down the bed so he was lying beside her.

He'd always prided himself on being able to know her. It bothered him to see such an unfamiliar part of her.

It could just be overwhelming. He supposed there were an awful lot of logistical details that accompanied locating her parents aside from just reversing the spell. But Hermione had been overwhelmed before. She'd taken twelve subjects her third year at Hogwarts. She'd helped organize secret D.A meetings while revising for all her OWL exams. She could manage stress.

It could be the uncertainty surrounding her parents and the lack of control over how they might respond. This entire year had been about facing an uncertain future though. She'd held it together when they had had absolutely no idea where they were going or what they would do when they got there. She'd handled it all then.

This was something else. He didn't press her for details. He didn't ask her why they weren't going to Highgate Hill, how it was she hadn't possibly thought about any of the logistics behind telling her parents earlier. He just lay on the bed beside her while she toyed with the fabric of his shirt. Her touch was suggestive, but he didn't cave. They couldn't run from this anymore. He wouldn't let her.

Ron reached for the wand that controlled the television and turned it on. He could sit here like this all afternoon if that's what she wanted, but he wasn't going to ask her about it directly and he wouldn't give in to the easy temptation. This was too large of an issue to cover up and ignore with a snog.

"I didn't think I'd find them," she finally murmured. "I mean, I wanted to. I did. I do. I'm glad you did." Ron couldn't help but think the way she repeated the words made it sound like she was trying to convince herself of them. "I just – I prepared myself for the worst, you know?" She gave an odd half-smile then and looked to Ron then. "All year, I just - I sort of prepared myself for the fact that I might never see them again. I figured if I prepared myself to never find them, then if I didn't…it wouldn't be so hard."

"But you did find them," Ron reminded her of the paper still pressed in her hand.

"But I haven't thought about how to bring them back," she admitted. "I haven't thought about any of it."

"You're Hermione Granger. Of course you have," Ron scoffed.

"I haven't."

"You have." Ron looked across the pillow to her knowingly. She'd always been a terrible liar.

"I'm telling you I haven't!" Her voice got more shrill and suddenly it dawned on him. He felt stupid for not having figured it out sooner.

"You're scared," he whispered. "You're afraid of finding your parents." His voice was a low murmur as he thought about her teary words when he'd found her in the bathroom, the guilt in her voice. She'd faced fear before, of course. She'd charged headlong into it for the past seven years. This was a different kind of fear. "You're afraid of how they'll react."

"I'm not - "

"When you're scared, you stall for time so you can figure things out," Ron spoke confidently now. "That's all you've been doing since we left the Burrow - stalling." He thought back on the last week. "Routing us to Dijon, taking a two day train trip to Krum's - "

"We needed his help - " she maintained, but Ron talked over her.

" - drawing everything out, staying up here all day and snogging me - "

"That's not stalling - "

"It is. It's the entire reason you've - "

"- the entire reason? Are you serious?" She looked suddenly furious at the accusation.

"It's gotta be a contributing factor."

"Because it can't be just because I love you and enjoy being with you? Why do you ALWAYS do this, Ron?"

"Do what?" Just like that they weren't talking about her parents anymore.

"Doubt me and my motivations?"

"Because a week ago if I touched you the way I did this morning, you'd have hexed my cock off."

"Well, a lot's happened in a week," she admitted quietly, looking suddenly self-conscious. "I didn't expect you'd be one to complain."

Before he could open his mouth and loose another accusation to dig himself deeper, he realised just how clever she was. Whether this was an important conversation worth having or just his own insecurities bubbling up again, she'd managed to get them quite off topic from where they'd started.

"You're stalling again."

She didn't reply and chose instead to roll over on the bed so her back was to him. And he knew then he was completely correct in his assessment of her behaviour. He was enough of an expert at avoiding problems to recognize it in someone else. And he knew well enough it had never solved a damn thing in his life.

"It's okay to be scared," Ron murmured after a long pause and looked to the piece of paper still clutched in her hands. "They're your parents. They'll understand."

"You don't know that," she finally muttered into the pillow. The words were so obvious Ron felt like a dolt for not figuring it out sooner. He should have known that first day in Brisbane. It was why her itinerary stopped at finding her parents. She didn't know how they would respond and she couldn't control it. There was no more plan to hatch out. No contingencies or escape routes. There were no spells to help her parents understand why she'd done what she'd had to do. His mum's critical words to her back at the Burrow echoed in his head suddenly. Shame on you. That's what she'd said to Hermione. She'd told her to be shameful. To feel guilty.

"We'll figure it out," he assured.

"Can we just have a day?"

"Come on, Hermione, you can't keep delaying it."

"No, I'm not delaying it!"

"You're asking for another day!"

" - Another day just to enjoy the city and – and not think about all this!"

"That's the definition of a delay!" he laughed at the absurdity of him defining words for her.

"No, but it'll be fun. It'll be our last day here. We'll go down and send a message to Kingsley and - and we can let him know we've found an address and then we can – !"

"You're hiding from them," Ron muttered. "You're hiding from it just like I was back at the Burrow."

"Well, then you're a hypocrite because you're still hiding!" she fired back at him.

"How am I hiding?" Like always, Ron pushed past the small part of him that knew she was correct, and chose instead to fire back. And so they went in circles again. This time she was able to skillfully deflect the argument from her avoidance to his own. She went so far as to question his real motivation for coming with her to Australia.

"Are you mental? You think the only reason I'm here with you is to be away from my family?"

"It's got to be a contributing factor," she echoed his words from moments ago, silencing him. He wasn't still hiding. He was supporting her. This was different from holing up in his room at the Burrow.

"Don't you see?" Her voice softened. "After tomorrow – if it works – if we find them, it's over."

"Right. That's the whole point, innitt?"

"No, I don't – I mean this. Us. Here." She blushed only slightly at the words. Ron hadn't really given the notion much thought, but now that she said it he realised how right she was, of course. If she found her parents and restored their memories, the last thing they'd want was for her to return to his hotel room with him. He still wasn't entirely unconvinced they wouldn't try to flay him, despite what she'd revealed this morning about her mum. This dream where they shared a bed and a hotel room, and what amounted to a home, together would be over. Suddenly, her proposition of a frivolous day taking in more of the city's sights didn't seem like such an awful idea. Finding her parents meant they returned home and the pit in his stomach that accompanied the mere thought of returning to the Burrow without Fred told him Hermione was right. For as far as they'd come, they were both still far from okay.

She took his hand then and repeated his words from their first night in the Executive Suite.

"We deserve this."

They planned out the day of sightseeing atop the bed just like they had planned the search for her parents their first night in Australia. Ron tried hard to remember that first night in the hotel room, but it seemed like a decade ago and not merely five days he had been sweaty-palmed at the thought of sharing a bed, afraid of where to sit and what to say. She was sitting cross-legged poring over the many maps and brochures they'd collected from the hotel lobby downstairs while he was stretched out comfortably on his side, lazily eating the fish and chips they'd ordered from room service.

"So if we go to the koala sanctuary then we have to take the bus anyway. Do you want to go to the beach? It's in the other direction." She traced a line from one side of the map to the other.

"I'd rather not."

"You don't want to to go the beach?"

"Think it'll be a while before I can enjoy the beach again." He didn't need to say anymore to pull her back to a beach along the Cornwall coast and all the painful memories it held. They sat there quietly for a moment, before Hermione spoke.

"Okay, so no beach. What about...a rainforest walk?"

"Already been to one," he reminded her of the Wet Tropics. "Why can't we just go round the city?" Having already finish his chips, he leaned over and stole a handful from her plate. She swatted his hand away and pulled the chips closer to her. "We could go have lunch on those cliffs I like. What's it, something like Kangaroo Point?"

"Like a picnic?" She looked as if he'd just proposed marriage.

"Yeah, we'll bring food and stuff."

"You want to go on a picnic?" she repeated incredulously.

"What?" He had admired the tremendous cliffs up on Kangaroo Point all week and the thought of sitting up there with her, looking out on the city they'd spent all week exploring together, sounded like the perfect end to their time in Brisbane. She leaned over and kissed him quite suddenly then, ignoring the bite of fried haddock he'd just taken.

"Oi! Still eating here!" He swallowed the bit of food in his mouth and laughed at her sudden enthusiasm, amazed that after four days of disappointment they'd reached a night this glorious. They had an address. He still couldn't get over it. "I didn't take a two hour nap," he teased. "I worked up an appetite."

"You made telephone calls."

"It was quite taxing."

"Oh, shut up."

The playful banter was the perfect prelude to a kiss. It's what he waited for all day, these moments atop the bed. It's what he felt like he'd waited years for. It still amazed him when he felt her hands run forcefully through his hair or her hips rise to meet his to think about the fact that she'd waited for them, too.

They found themselves beneath the covers quickly and when Ron joked that they hadn't brushed their teeth, she responded by shoving her hand in his face. So they wrestled playfully like they had after that first night together, legs and limbs tangling in the sheets, as their laughter and heavy breathing punctuated the silence. All the compromising positions they found themselves in felt that much more charged, purposeful even. There wasn't a nervous playful energy to it anymore, there was a raw, almost palpable desire. They had changed.

He thought about what she'd said this morning about her mum. He still couldn't work out whether she was just talking about her parents or if it had all been a guise to talk about sex. With him. He was temporarily reminded of all the accusations they'd hurled at each other that afternoon, about stalling and escaping and hiding from a pain they both didn't want to feel.

And then suddenly, as if recalling the same thing, Hermione gave up trying to pin his hands at his sides and collapsed face down onto the pillow. She let out a contented sigh as she did and, taking his cue from her, Ron did the same. They stared at each other from across their respective pillows for several moments, taking in the intimacy of the setting and the very routineness that now came with being in bed together.

"Can you believe we found them?" Ron spoke first, murmuring the words into the pillow with a contented grin.

Instead of growing larger though the smile slowly vanished from her face.

"There's so much I haven't told them."

The words weren't at all what he expected, but he tried not to frown or look too surprised like he did on the rare occasion she talked about her parents.

"What, you mean about the Horcruxes and everything this year?" The words sounded so trivial when he said them.

"I mean about everything," she muttered. "About Dumbledore - "

"They don't know about Dumbledore?" Ron interrupted, unable to even imagine how she'd returned home last year and kept something that large secret from her parents.

"They don't even know about Cedric," she admitted meekly, the guilt in her eyes more than evident. "Or your dad over Christmas...what happened to me at the Ministry..." He gaped wordlessly for a moment, trying once again to display a bit of tact, but she knew him too well. "I know. It's terrible, right?"

"It's...what you had to do," Ron fumbled for words of assurance.

"I used to tell them everything," she confessed, choosing to ignore his remark and instead dive back into memories where her parents had been her confidante. "I'm sure this might surprise you, but...I didn't have...a lot of friends when I was little."

She paused then like she was waiting for Ron to say something so he replied with the only lame comfort that he could think.

"I er - I just had my brothers."

"I just had my parents," she challenged as if they were now competing over who had been the lonelier child. "They were everything and then - then I went to Hogwarts and now…now you're..." Her voice faded as she looked to him with eyes that somehow possessed a strange combination of adoration and guilt. She didn't have to say anything further. He understood. He had the same overwhelming feeling. Now she was everything.

"It's like I became this person, this whole other person." She was still muttering into the pillow, but he could hear each word tinged with guilt.

"You grew up," he offered.

"I kept them in the dark."

"Well, tomorrow you get them back."

From the moment they woke up, the day felt different. They didn't have to search for anything. They had no more addresses to cross off their list. They'd done what they came to Australia to do. Today was just about them.

So they took a day to do nothing but enjoy the sights. With joined hands, they toured the shops and cafes of Brisbane, as two people deeply in love and finally able to express it. They took breakfast in a cozy cafe with mismatched tables and chairs Hermione had read about last night. Ron ordered a fluffy stack of pancakes that he covered with strawberry maple syrup and Hermione ate poached eggs and kedgeree. It was the first proper breakfast they'd had in the city and they giggled and flirted through it all, her legs lightly running up his calf the entire time like she did beneath the covers.

They climbed to the top of the Story Bridge and looked out on the city they'd spent four days exploring. He could see the racetrack from their first day where Leland was probably already skiving off work to play the ponies, and the entrance to the Ministry beneath the Motorway. He spotted the oddly shaped library where they'd first arrived in Brisbane and even excitedly pointed out what he thought was their hotel room and balcony. It was worth the long queue and two hour climb and when she kissed him atop the bridge, her hair whipping around his face, he knew this would be a day he'd remember for a long time to come. This was their day. The war seemed another lifetime.

The view of the city, stretching from Mt. Cootha all the way to the bay, seemed to plan the day out for them. They visited the city Botanic Gardens next and Hermione even dragged him through a display of bizarre twisted metal she claimed was art, but looked like something Hagrid had built. They visited the Queen Street Mall, which looked just like River Street only above ground and without Quidditch shops, and she never let go of his hand the entire time.

He thought about all the times they'd held hands this year. For the last ten months, he'd done it to offer protection. Practically, it was an efficient way to run without losing her. Holding hands after the battle had been their first real act of intimacy aside from that wonderfully unexpected kiss, but even then it had been more about comfort than affection. Feeling her hand in his was a way to show they were there for each other, even if they still had trouble saying it. But today it was an expression of love. They were declaring to every other person in the city that they were connected, they were together, they were in love.

He spied her looking thoughtfully at their joined hands sometimes, a small smile threatening on her face like she'd just realised something. Every time he caught her, she'd press her lips to his and each time it was longer and longer, until finally an irritated American mother waiting in the queue to the koala sanctuary had ordered them to 'get a room'.

They'd both apologised profusely, blushing fiercely and separating their tongues, but unable to detach much further. They stood instead with their hands wrapped comfortably around each other's waists while his chin rested atop her head. The mother looked none too pleased that they were still touching each other in public and clucked her tongue, turning the other way and herding her kids in another direction.

Ron looked at the litter of children gathered around the woman, who reminded him a bit of his own poor mum. She'd probably cluck and fuss at them too. He laughed to himself at the thought of his mum if she could see them today. But his eyes rested again on the four young children with shockingly white blonde hair surrounding their frazzled mum. If only she knew. If Voldemort's followers had reached India, they'd certainly reached America. They'd saved this woman. Saved her the horrors of 'freak hurricanes', random senseless murders and bridge collapses. Saved her from having to endure the horror his mum had of burying her own child.

Ron couldn't help think about how the Muggles would never know any of it. His face twisted in an odd sort of smile as he watched all the tourists from all over the world climb waiting for their chance to hold a koala. Voldemort certainly wouldn't have stopped with Britain, nor would he have been content with dominion over all of Europe. They'd all been at risk and they'd never know any of it. He looked down to Hermione, dressed happily in short-sleeves for the first time since the Burrow, the scars and bandage visible for all Muggles to see. They'd never know he and Hermione had both nearly given their lives to end it and that this carefree day was their one day to forget about it.

They inched forward in the queue, arms still locked around each other so they moved as one. His excitement over finally visiting the koala farm was quickly tempered with the realisation that the zoo charged for entry and pictures with the furry creatures. Quite angry, he pulled Hermione behind a shed and they Apparated right back to the only designated Apparation point on the Promenade, tucked in the tropical flora behind the Nepalese Peace Pagoda.

"That's such rubbish," he fumed.

"We could have just paid the fee. It was only twenty quid." She brushed the branches out of her hair.

"Twenty quid just to see an animal in a cage? That's complete shit! I don't know how they stay in business."

"Keep your voice down!" she reminded him this Apparation point was supposed to be secret.

"It just seems like a shit place to be a koala. Spend all your life hugging strangers, being locked in a cage." He continued to grumble under his breath some more about how he ought to have stolen one for Ginny and given it a better life as they climbed out from behind the trees.

"I love you." Her eyes seemed unnaturally bright as she said the words.

"Why?" he suddenly asked bluntly. The question made her laugh dismissively until she saw by his fervent gaze that he was serious. Clearly caught off-guard by the intimate question, she struggled for words for a few moments before collecting herself.

"Because I just do." She laughed when she said it, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Ron was about to press her further when he stopped and just echoed her with a smile. He supposed it was the perfect response. If she asked him he'd likely respond the same way. He couldn't trace when it happened or how it happened or even why it had. He just did. He couldn't stop it anymore than he could stop himself from being a wizard. Her only response was to reach for his shirt, tug him toward her and kiss him softly. "You're not going to cry, are you?" Ron joked, noting the glassy sheen in her eyes as she broke apart, but she just kissed him again, holding him so tightly he swayed on the spot.

"What was that for?" he laughed, looking around at the Muggles on the Promenade he now reckoned were starting to look at them.

"For being incredible."

"Well." Ron shrugged with no attempt at modesty.

"For finding them," she clarified.

"I just made the phone call."

She kissed him for the third time out by the wishing pond where everybody could see.

"Thank you." She was getting too soppy for him now and he squeezed her hand and tugged her along.

"Thank yourself. Come on," he laughed, leading her down the path to a lusciously maintained patch of lawn. Grinning with the delight of a fresh idea, he hurried to the nearest bench and quickly began unlacing his shoes.

"What're you doing?" she snorted absurdly.

"This is my favourite thing to do in summer!" he informed, eagerly tugging his socks off and walking out into the grass barefoot.

"You look foolish!" she laughed as he hiked up his trousers and allowed the manicured blades of grass to gently massage his feet. He laughed at the feel of it and all the memories of running barefoot through the orchard with his brothers, fighting against the brief lump in his throat. It didn't take long for Hermione to appear at his side and he smiled when he saw her following his lead and rolling up her trousers.

"Didn't you do this when you were a kid?" he chuckled, watching her take tentative bare-toed steps through the grass.

"I was always afraid I'd step on a bee or something," she confessed.

"Step on a bee!" Ron threw back his head and laughed as a breeze that felt like it flowed all the way down the river from the sea blew his hair wildly. Hermione continued to take small measured steps. "Come on, that's not how you do it!" He seized her hand suddenly and ran the length of the the green side-by-side with her.

"This is silly," Hermione remarked breathlessly.

"I know it is, but it's fun!" He raced back the other way with her, hands swinging wildly until he finally saw a smile erupt on her face, despite herself. Playfully, he wrestled her to the grass then just like he did atop the bed. She rolled away from him, shrieking as he tickled the bottoms of her feet.

"Don't think I won't kick you!" she threatened.

"Oh, I know you will," he sputtered with laughter, "you kick me at least two times every night."

"I do not," she stated firmly, stretching out on the bed of grass and folding her hands behind her head. He saw her close her eyes contently and this time he followed her lead. Crawling alongside her on his belly, he rolled over and wrapped his hands behind his own head. With eyes still closed, he watched her lips curve into a smile as she nudged toward him at an angle until the crown of her head just brushed his jaw.

Ron wasn't sure how long they spent there on the lawn. He was fairly confident she'd fallen asleep against him for a short time, awaking with a sudden snort that made him chuckle.

"I wasn't sleeping," she maintained.

"Right." Ron made no attempt to disguise his disbelief. "Do you want to go back to the hotel?" he inquired innocently. They'd had a full day already and evening had descended since they'd first lain down on the grass. There was a brief look in her eye that matched the way her hands had moved over him all day, suggesting the privacy of the hotel was exactly what she wanted.

"What about dinner?" She bit her lip. "We could get dinner and bring it up."

"No, we should go out to eat tonight," he proposed. They hadn't eaten outside of the hotel once all week.

"What?"

"Instead of just eating in the hotel. We should go eat somewhere."

"Like on a date?" Her voice sounded unusually high.

"Er…sure." Ron hadn't meant it like that, but now that he had said it, he loved the idea. "Let's go on a date." There was a long pause as his words just seemed to hang in the air.

"Only if you say it properly."

"Say what properly?" Ron laughed.

"Asking me on a date."

"Hermione Granger." Ron sat up suddenly. "Will you go on a date with me?"

"Yes." There was the smile he'd missed all week. He loved that today he'd brought it back. It might still have been stalling, but this day was what she had needed. Ron felt cheered immensely.

"Where do you want to go?" She asked, still lying down and making no effort to move.

"I don't care," Ron shrugged, keen just to continue wandering the city like they had all day.

"I mean do you want to go across the river downtown, do you want to go to the River? do you want to stay here?"

"I don't know," Ron laughed, glad to see the glimpse of her typical self,. "I just want to take you to dinner."

At the remark, she just propped herself up on her elbows and smiled.

They chose a quiet little place behind their hotel in the West End with white tablecloths and waiters with funny Italian accents. Ron held the door and pulled out her chair and when the waiter asked if they cared to see the wine list, they just exchanged secret smiles, likely both thinking about the bottle of Burgundy red on the train to Zurich and where that had led. He couldn't believe how long ago the train ride felt. She'd been so nervous then about everything.

"Do you remember when it was we first met?" she asked with a fond smile somewhere between salad and their third basket of rolls.

Ron pushed the tomato around his salad bowl, trying to recall the moment he'd met Hermione Granger. His whole first year seemed a blur when he looked back on it. He remembered eating more sweets than he'd ever dreamed on the Hogwarts Express with Harry and he vividly recalled his first night in Gryffindor Tower and getting lost in the corridors with Harry their whole first week of school, but he couldn't remember the moment he'd met anybody aside from hist best mate. His only memories of Hermione were that she'd been a real swot, insulting his magic, showing off in class and tattling on him and Harry.

"In the Great Hall after we both got sorted?" He hoped it didn't sound too much like a guess. In truth, all he remembered about the Sorting was his relief he'd ended up in the same house as Harry and all his brothers. She hadn't been a big part of his first months or memories at Hogwarts. He could see from her expression that the same did not hold true for her and it gave him a funny sort of feeling. "Oh, earlier then? In the boathouse?" he tried again, but the frown remained. "On the platform at Hogsmeade Station? On the train?" Finally her satisfied expression told him he'd gotten it right. "We met on the train?"

"Yes." She seemed very put out he didn't remember. "I came in to try to help Neville find Trevor. You were about to do a spell to turn Scabbers yellow."

"That's right!" Ron tried to redeem himself, but he could see from her expression that she didn't believe that the detail had jogged his memory. He felt guilty that she could so easily recall the details of when she first met him and he had needed three guesses. "I do remember!" he insisted. "You were so awful! Telling us about all the books you'd read over the summer and how good you were at magic and how we ought to get in our robes," he snorted. She looked mildly insulted, but he could tell he was right so he continued to prove to her he knew it. "I even told Harry I didn't want to be in your house because you seemed like a complete nightmare. I hoped they'd put you in Ravenclaw or something."

"Well, when you made Gryffindor I was sure I was in the wrong house," she retorted

"Why?"

"Because you were rude and dirty and didn't seem very good at magic."

"Least I wasn't an insufferable know-it-all," he countered with a smile and there was something thoroughly pleasing about saying such things when her leg rubbed against his suggestively and all he wanted to do was kiss her. "Thank goodness for first impressions, eh?"

They reminisced throughout the night, about awful Potions lessons and rock cakes at Hagrid's while they waited for their dinner.

"I'm telling you, I never ate a single one!" Ron laughed. "I always fed them to Fang or put them in my pockets."

"If you dipped them in the tea long enough they weren't that bad."

"I'll take your word for it. I could hardly drink the tea." He twisted the spaghetti around his fork. It was weird to look back on the time at Hogwarts and know he'd never have any new memories there. There would be no more lessons or walks through the corridors. Ron gave a slight shudder at the last memory of the old castle.

"Are you really not going back?" Hermione seemed to be thinking the same thing and he noticed she didn't look at him when she asked the question.

"I'm really not," he mumbled, for some reason unable to look at her either.

"I wish you would," she stated plainly.

"I know you do," Ron sighed.

"It'd be fun, you know, being together our final year."

"I'd probably spend half the year in detention."

"For what?"'

"You know what." He eyed her cleavage obviously.

"Well, that means I'd probably be in detention too."

"Exactly! And I can't be responsible for the Head Girl being put in detention," he laughed. "You'll be better for it! Just think, you won't have to explain the lesson again to me - "

"That always helped me learn it better!"

"-or make revision schedules for me or worry about anyone else's work, but your own," he argued. "You'll be better off."

"I'm not better without you," she maintained, looking suddenly much more serious. Ron felt his ears burn. Somehow it seemed like the most intimate thing she'd ever told him. "So if you're not going back, what are you going to do?" she continued and suddenly he wished they were still talking about Hagrid's rock cakes. "Do you think about the future?"

"I dunno," he muttered, slightly annoyed by the inquisitorial nature of her question in the middle of what had been a relatively carefree evening.

"You don't at all, do you?"

"I think about being with you," he confessed, trying for some levity.

"But besides that," she pressed.

"I dunno," Ron repeated and gave a helpless shrug. There were numerous times throughout the year where he didn't think there was going to be a future for him. He'd never given much thought to what happened after they finished their quest this year. Back when he was fourteen he thought there could hardly be a better job in the world than being an Auror, but after the last year battling dark magic he didn't really know what he wanted his future to look like. Spending the rest of his life wondering if there was going to be a rest of his life no longer sounded so appealing. "No. I don't really think about it," he admitted. "I just see you."

Hermione looked touched, but still she pressed the matter.

"Yes, but - "

"What about tomorrow?" he changed the conversation suddenly. "That's the future."

"What about it?" She looked a bit uncomfortable. They hadn't so much as mentioned her parents or what the future held tomorrow all day.

"Well, you know, how it's going to go, what you're going to say - "

"I thought tomorrow we were just going to - to go and look and check on it," Hermione replied swiftly, almost sounding defensive.

"Right...but we're going to at least knock on the door, right?" Ron stretched the words out. "Right?"

"Yes," she replied meekly after a long pause. "I mean, of course." He could see her trying to sound more confident. She truly was terrified to see them again.

"I can talk to them if you want," he offered.

"No, I – I can do it."

"No, I can pretend I'm selling something. You said Muggles do that, right?"

"You don't have to."

"They won't recognise me, right? And then you can just...see them." He shrugged his shoulders simply, figuring that the sight of her parents alone would be difficult enough. "And we'll figure out the rest from there." He figured small steps like this were the way to go. It was too much all at once.

"I love you," she replied for the umpteenth time that day.

They'd said it so many times and still he had not grown tired of neither saying nor hearing it. He loved the fact that the entire day she'd seemed keen on showing the world just how much she did.

They made their way back to the hotel arm-in-arm and the moment the doors of the lift closed to take them up to the 28th floor, she had her arms around his neck and was kissing him hard.

He had no objections and practically lifted her off the ground as he pressed her back against the wall of the lift. "What if somebody comes in?" he asked breathlessly as he looked to the doors warily, but she didn't even bother answering. She gripped him tightly, kissing him the way she had the night she'd come undone in the bathroom. He hadn't meant for dinner to lead to this, but he supposed the whole day, the whole week, the whole year had really led to this. She pulled his shirt out from his trousers right there in the lift and they stumbled through the doors when they opened. Somehow they managed to make their way down the corridor and open the door while never breaking the seal of their mouths. She tossed the beaded bag aside and kissed him roughly then, her lips and teeth moving over his in a manner that indicated just how much she'd kept bottled up at dinner. Except this felt like more than just dinner. The way her hands were moving, working swiftly to pull her shirt over her head, indicated this was about more than tonight and two glasses of red wine.

"I love you," she spoke breathlessly against him as they crashed backwards to the bed, collapsing onto it with a thud that slammed the headboard rather loudly against the wall. They shared a laugh then and Ron used the moment apart to hurriedly unfasten her jeans and pull them off her legs.

"I love you," he replied only after her foot emerged from the trouser leg, as if he couldn't speak and act at the same time. Feeling like he had entirely too many clothes on, Ron hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, delighting in how forcefully she jerked it off his shoulders.

"I know the charms," he sputtered suddenly as she balled up his shirt and threw it aside. Fuck, he couldn't believe he'd just said that.

"Me too," she admitted, coming together again on the bed.

"I mean I know how to do them," he clarified hurriedly between kisses.

"Right. Me too."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Well, I mean…" He stopped the movement of his hand. "Did you - er - you know, change your mind - y'know - from the other night?" he stumbled, cursing himself and his own inability to ask a forthright question.

"I…" The words seemed to get trapped in her throat. "I don't know."

"Oh." He couldn't disguise the disappointment in his one-word reply.

"It's just …it's a big thing, sex." The word echoed about the giant hotel room.

Sex.

Sex with Hermione. They were talking about it again. He was losing track of how many times they'd talked about it already. Except this time there was no mistaking the intent of her words. This wasn't a story about how her mum had taught her about sex or an inquiry about his past deeds with Lavender. She'd gone and said it.

"Even with the charms, you know, stuff can happen." She chewed on her lip.

"The charms always work." He propped himself up over her.

"Says the boy in a family of seven," Hermione laughed, edging out from beneath him.

"I'm just saying. They're supposed to be really effective."

"Muggles have things too, you know," she spoke.

"What kinds of things?" Ron asked curiously.

"Pills that I would take," she informed and then glanced between his legs. "There's also something you can wear."

"I'd wear? Like on my…" He pointed to his crotch.

"It's nothing big. Just a bit of rubber."

"A bit of rubber on my cock?" Ron exclaimed in disgust, but seeing her face he quickly sought to retract the words. "I mean, I'll…I'll wear it if you want. I'll - I'll do whatever you want." He hoped he didn't sound too desperate.

"I just want to be safe. I don't want…I mean it's just…it's kind of scary."

"Scary?" Of all the words he thought of when he thought about sex with Hermione, 'scary' was not one of them.

"Just the thought that we could get…pregnant." She whispered the last word like it was a swear. A frightening image of a pregnant Hermione and a swarm of little red-haired children screaming and running around them flashed before his eyes.

"So we'll be safe," Ron assured, shuddering at the mental image. "We'll do the charms and – and the pills and I'll wear the er – the - "

"Condom. It's called a condom."

"Right. I'll wear a condom if you want."

"There's a potion I can even take too."

"So a potion and the pills and the charms and the condom," Ron rattled, "and I – I'll pull out. I won't even…you know..." Hermione laughed and Ron wasn't sure whether it was his obvious desperation and eagerness or the fact that he couldn't even say the word. Ron figured if she could finally say 'sex' he ought to just loose his mouth.

"It's not just being safe though," she spoke as her laughter faded. "It's just…it's a lot."

"Right." Ron propped himself up on his arm to look at her. "It is."

"It's just...what if it changes everything?" she chewed on her lip.

"Well, it will change everything. But...in a good way," he offered a smile and touched her shoulder softly.

"What if that's all we do then?"

"What do you mean?" Ron frowned.

"You've seen how this week has been! How today has been? " she laughed, looking at the trail of discarded clothes from the door. "What if – what if we can't stop?"

"You think once we start having sex we won't be able to stop?" Ron laughed.

"I think that might be all we do, yes," she stated firmly.

"That is the best reason I've ever heard for not having sex."

"Have you heard a lot of them, then?"

"Only from you," he grinned.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"I'm serious, Ron. Think about it."

"You think too much, Hermione."

"You need to think about it!"

"We have thought about it. You've clearly thought more about it than any person in the world ever has." She glared at him at the teasing comment.

"It's one of the most important decisions I've ever had to make!"

"Right up there with fighting Voldemort, eh?"

"I'm serious!"

"I love you." Ron blurted out. "That's all I need to think about it."

"Ron - " She opened her mouth to protest his simplistic argument.

"It is a lot," he affirmed. "And stuff can happen and things will change," he parroted back all her concerns, "but I want them to." He gave a simple shrug as and that was all. The words weren't argumentative. He wanted to tell her life wasn't about thinking. He wanted to remind her, in fact, that life was incredibly short, that she'd almost been taken from him numerous times this year, that shit happened every day even when there wasn't a war going on. But somehow he knew, for once in his life, this was his turn to shut up.

"It's just...it hasn't even been three weeks."

Ron was silent and so Hermione continued talking to herself.

"I mean, I know it's been longer. It's...it's you." The word was loaded with all the history of the last seven years, but still Ron said nothing. "But it's SUCH a big thing." With nothing but an amused grin, he watched her fight against the two sides of herself she'd always struggled to balance. "But if we take the proper precautions we can minimize the risk. But still it's not even been three whole weeks." She continued to argue between passion and reason, looking to him for help in her decision, but finding none. "Would you say something?" she demanded, clearly annoyed by his silence.

"I like when your cheeks get all flushed." He grinned, noting her frustration and what it did to her complexion.

"Something to help, I mean!"

"To help you decide if you want to have sex with me?" The slight chuckle in his voice did not amuse her.

"To help me...feel better about it." She blew out a loud sigh, thoroughly unamused by his aloofness on the matter.

"About what?"

"About the fact that I think I really want to!" The confession came out more like an attack. Ron would expect no less.

"No thinking," he reminded.

"I want to," she affirmed then, her voice shaky and uncertain.

"Want to what?"

"You know." Her irritation with him seemed to multiply each second that passed.

"I think I need to hear it," he playfully recalled their first kiss up in his bedroom and the way she'd teased confessions out of him.

"I-want-to-have-sex."

"Say it one more time?"

"I want to have sex," she said it slower and more confidently this time. "With you."

"Well, I'd hope it's not with anyone else." He raised his eyes to look at her.

"I'm serious, Ron."

"You want to tonight?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"No, not tonight," her immediate reply sounded, "I'm not...ready."

"Not ready? What, like the charms?"

"No, I just - I need a day." Ron noticed she shifted her legs nervously on the bed. "I need to...prepare."

"You need to prepare?" he laughed. "What - do you need to read a couple of books first?" he teased at the odd statement. She scowled and pinched his side hard enough to almost draw blood. "You're thinking again."

"Well, I am thinking about this! I HAVE to think about it."

"Okay," he dismissed cavalierly and lay back on the bed, reaching for a brochure from one of the many places they'd visited that day and leaving her to think. Hermione stared at him as he lay back on the bed, like she was waiting for him to say something further, but Ron just continued to read in silence. Seconds ticked by that turned into minutes. She seemed unnerved by his casual and dismissive attitude. Like she couldn't possibly believe he wasn't going to say anything further.

"Is that it?"

"Yeah," he laughed at her disbelief. Perhaps she wanted him to try to convince her or reassure her it was the right choice, but after seven years he knew better than that. Hermione Granger made up her mind for herself. Attempting to sway it for her would be about the most useless endeavor he could ever try. "Did you know we could have gone horse riding?" He turned his attention back to the brochure advertising the many things to do in Brisbane. "I've always wanted to do that."

"I want to have sex," she finally blurted out. Without putting the literature down, Ron just looked at her over the top of it. "I don't think I want to. I know I want to," she affirmed confidently. "I want you, Ron," she admitted, staring at him from her pillow.

"You've got me." Finally, he put the brochure down and wrapped an arm around her.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

Ron couldn't help but wonder what that meant they would do tonight.


	37. Chapter 37

He used to hate mornings. The morning never held anything positive. At the Burrow, mornings meant getting ready for chores, and at Hogwarts it meant getting ready for lessons, which more often than not meant finishing coursework from the night before. It used to be sleep that he looked forward to most. After five days in Australia, the best part of falling asleep had become waking up in the morning.

He kept hoping a night would come when he was not awoken by a nightmare and she would stop shaking against him, but every night it was still the same. They could push out the memories of the last year every waking hour, but the moment sleep descended it all came rushing back.

His dreams were never coherent. They were random and disjointed and took place in bizarre locations that didn't make sense, like Madame Malkins' or a hill in the West Midlands they'd camped for several days. Sometimes it was Professor Snape bleeding out with a container of mint humbugs in his hand, sometimes it was his brother falling off his broom, sometimes it was just Hermione screaming somewhere in the distance where he could never reach. Though the thrashing had subsided and he no longer awoke in a sweat, it still took several moments for him to collect himself and recall where he was after each one.

Sometimes she'd wake up, too. Usually it was because he had, but sometimes it was her own nighttime disturbances. Neither ever made mention of the fact that their nights were still far from peaceful. When they woke up it was just like when they fell asleep, all whispers and touching beneath the covers and happy smiles.

Yes, morning was his favorite time of day.

He wondered if mornings would ever look the same after Australia. Waking up alone in his bedroom at the Burrow would be awfully dull after six days waking up with Hermione across the pillow. He shivered imagining just what tomorrow morning would be like. He had trouble figuring out if last night had all been a dream or not. He suddenly wished he had a pensieve to relive it all.

There had been the wonderful carefree day they'd spent together - the way she'd attacked him in the lift...and then they'd had the conversation he still didn't quite believe had happened. He was surprised he'd been able to fall asleep at all. He truthfully didn't want to do anything but stay in this bed and wait until tonight. He had a sudden heavy feeling as he realised what they had to do first, then an immediate rush of guilt because he dreaded it: they were going to see her parents today.

Then they were going to have sex.

He wondered which she was thinking about more.

She was resting on her side, facing the edge of the bed and Ron scooted over to get closer, instinctively draping an arm around her. Such intimacy had become second nature here in Australia.

"You awake?" he mumbled in question.

"I am now." Her scratchy reply sounded.

"Sorry." He nestled his face against her neck.

"It's fine." Still in his embrace, she rolled over to face him. "Just didn't sleep great."

"Sorry." Ron tried to pretend like the words were a surprise and he hadn't felt her shaking against him.

"Not your fault." Though he knew she certainly didn't intend them that way, the words felt like a sharp reminder that, deep down, they were indeed his fault. He knew what likely caused the nightmares. He hadn't been able to save her. "Although you did wake me up once."

"When?"

"You came up behind me and you were umm…excited." It pleased Ron to see that her cheeks didn't flush at all at the words. It didn't embarrass her anymore to talk about it. He wanted her and she wanted him and tonight they were finally going to do what they both wanted. They were ready for this.

"Sorry," he apologised half-heartedly for his semi-conscious state.

"You were asleep," she excused.

"How do you know I was asleep?" he teased.

"You were talking in your sleep about chocolate trifle and strawberry jam."

"I was not."

"Yes, you were."

"I don't talk in my sleep!" he insisted.

"Yes, you do!"

"Well, so do you." He blurted it out without even thinking.

"No, I don't," she laughed dismissively. He knew he could lie. He could tell her she muttered nonsense words in her sleep like he did. He could tell her she talked about chocolate trifle and strawberry jam, too, but anything else would be a lie and he hated lying to Hermione.

"Yes, you do." He spoke more seriously now.

"I do not!" she laughed, clearly missing the gravity of his words. Fuck, but this would be hard to do.

"You do."

"I don't!"

"You say my name and you uh...you uh..." As his voice faded away and he struggled for words, she slowly seemed to realise the nature of what he was discussing. Suddenly, the morning lost its playfulness.

"What?" she pressed.

"Nothing. You just sort of..." Ron struggled with how to convey what happened to her. You go someplace else. You don't know I'm there. You relive it all over again. "Shake." The one lame syllable didn't come close to explaining it, but somehow the word seemed to be enough.

She looked like she'd come over queasy all of a sudden. Her face grew pale and she swallowed loudly, like her mouth had gone dry.

"How often?" she creaked. When Ron failed to respond, diverting his eyes down to the pillow, she continued. "Every night?" A look of sudden betrayal flashed over her face that made Ron feel even worse. He wondered what it was like to find out something like this, something you didn't even know you did. He felt guilty now for keeping it quiet. Guilty for not telling her that morning in Gryffindor tower or even the night in Shell Cottage when he'd first noticed it.

"It hasn't been all year, has it?" she asked the question so quietly Ron knew she already knew the answer. They both knew the only thing that could possibly cause such a reaction in someone so strong.

"No."

"Do I say anything else?" Ron detected a sudden glassy sheen in her eyes and he felt his stomach twist at what he'd done. They were facing enough today going to see her parents. Now he'd gone and ruined his favourite part of the day.

"No, but maybe you're just – I don't know – I'm probably - it's probably not real-" he backpedaled quickly, "it's – it's probably just my stupid nightmares. It's probably me hearing things."

When her voice sounded to cut off his stupid attempt to change his story, it was so soft he could hardly hear the words.

"No, I did call for you," she admitted then. "Not loudly, of course, but I did."

Ron licked his lips, struggling for words, wondering what he could possibly say. She was talking about it again. Talking about what had happened to her, what she'd endured at the Malfoys. All he'd heard were screams- dreadful, terrified, anguished, cries he doubted he'd ever be able to forget. But she'd called for him. The words made him feel worse than he thought he could feel.

Before he could speak, she threw the covers aside abruptly and swung her legs over the bed.

He could do little but watch her rummage around for clothes and then retreat behind the bathroom door.

This was a different Hermione than the one he'd sparred with for years, the one whose moods he could read so easily. Her actions all week had been muddled and contradictory. The only thing he could tell for sure was that she was confused about a lot of things. It wasn't just navigating their relationship, either. She was confused about finding her parents. She was confused about how to deal with her torture. She'd give these brief hints that she did want to talk about it, but then they would disappear just as quickly. And he still wasn't confident whether it was the kind of thing he should push or not, or whether he ought to take the same approach he had last night and leave it entirely in her hands.

Staring at the closed door, he was briefly reminded of the sight he'd found when she retreated behind it three nights ago. The visceral memory of finding her huddled on the floor with her knees to her chest caused him to rap on the door with his knuckles hesitantly.

"You can come in and wash in a moment!" she called.

"Hermione - "

"I'm on the toilet, Ron!" she screeched at him, her voice shrill and clearly annoyed, and he retreated silently to the edge of the bed like Fang after being scolded by Hagrid. He waited patiently outside the door, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the tap running and her teeth being polished and her hair brushed. It was the longest she'd ever taken to get ready. Her actions seemed deliberately slow.

"Sorry," he blurted out when she finally emerged and glared at him. "I - I didn't know you were on the toilet I - I thought - "

"You thought I was crying in the corner again, didn't you?" She turned to him knowingly.

The accuracy of the statement alarmed him a bit. Still, he knew Hermione wouldn't take kindly to him thinking her such a mess.

"No, it's not that - I just thought - "

"See if you have any clean clothes to wear." She threw his rucksack at him.

"Hermione-" He doubled over as the half-empty rucksack hit him hard in the chest.

"I'm fine." He'd heard the flippant words before and they did little to assure him. "Come on, we have to get dressed."

"I know, but -"

"The sooner we get dressed, the sooner we go look up the address, the sooner..." Her fingers coiled around his shirt, drawing him close to her. "We can come back here."

The words hinted, for the first time that morning, at what they had planned for tonight. It was the first concrete assurance that last night had not been a dream. When her lips met his, Ron momentarily forgot his protestations over the abrupt manner in which she'd left the bed or the fact that she now seemed to be deliberately avoiding the brief conversation that had played out there. He forgot all that when he kissed her.

But then he remembered and he knew telling her this morning was just as much for him as it was for her. He wanted to talk about it. He had to talk about it. It ate away at him every time he looked at her arms, every time he felt her tremble. The visceral memory of Hermione being pulled away by her hair made him want to retch.

No matter how badly he wished he could change things or how many ways he relived what had happened, the outcome was always the same. Hermione ended up broken, a different girl than the one who'd been dragged away from him in the Malfoys' parlor. It was all just so fucked up. He hated even thinking about it. His long fingers ran gently up and down her scarred flesh, a necessary reminder that he'd always have to think about it. They both would.

There was a longing to the way her lips moved and a promise to the way her tongue rolled over his. She wanted to be able to talk about it. She wanted to be okay.

Slowly, her mouth trailed away from him and the kiss turned into a hug. There were no tears and no wandering hands. It was just a hug. Yet Ron couldn't recall a hug ever saying so much. They held each other firmly, wordlessly promising the other they'd be okay. They'd get there. Today, everything changed.

"So what exactly does an encyclopedia salesman wear?" He broke apart from her slowly and turned his attention to the wrinkled assortment of shirts he'd pulled from his rucksack.

"Well," she cleared her throat, "I suppose this would look best." The blue collared shirt in her hands was the same one she'd selected for him to wear to Viktor's.

"I don't think I have anything to wear with it," he sighed, pulling out a rumpled pair of jeans he'd last worn while trekking across India.

"Are you running out of clean clothes?"

"Running out would imply I had some left," he grumbled, turning the rucksack completely upside down.

"Is this really all you have?" She frowned, looking at the assortment of dirty clothes on the bed.

"I didn't pack a lot." He shrugged. "What's it matter?"

"I just - well, I thought maybe we could, you know, go out to dinner again. Someplace nice," she admitted bashfully. "You know, tonight, before we..."

"You want to go out to eat before?"

"I thought it'd be - it's just - last night - it was...fun," she stammered with a touch of embarrassment.

"Yeah, it was," he smiled, knowing exactly what she meant. Though they reminisced about their time at Hogwarts, he hadn't felt like an eighteen year old who'd helped shoulder the weight of the Wizarding World for most of the year. He felt like a proper boyfriend, pulling out her chair for her and sharing dessert. Their smiles widened and he thought the moment might give way to another kiss, but she withdrew.

"But I don't want to eat too close and, of course, we'll have to come home and shower."

"So erm - what time will this all be happening?" he grinned. "It sounds like you've got it all...you know, planned out."

"Eight."

Ron tried to stifle a laugh. He'd been taking the mickey when he asked the time.

"It'll be dark outside, but not too late and our food should be digested and...what?" She stopped, noticing the threatening smile on his face.

"Sounds a bit like you're planning a revision schedule."

"Your first time only happens once, Ron!"

"Okay." He gave an obliging nod.

"I just want it..." Her voice trailed off and he didn't let her finish.

"I know," he assured with a smile. "Me too."

"We have to stop at the chemist too," she continued to go through the obvious checklist in her mind.

"That's the Muggle apothecary, right? Why d'you have to go to one of those?" Ron frowned, concern briefly washing over him.

"To get the Muggle contraceptives," she replied calmly.

"Oh, right, the pills."

"No, not the pills. I need a prescription for those and they take a month to be effective," she dismissed.

"Oh," Ron replied tersely, realising what it meant. "So you do want me to wear that er...the thing."

"It's just..." She chewed on her lip. "I know it's silly, but I promised my mum that if I - whenever I did - I'd, you know, use one."

"Right."

"She knows there's charms. She just...she doesn't understand magic and - and -"

"I'll wear it," he replied with a shrug. "I said I would."

The explicit mention of her mum seemed a sharp reminder of the task they had to fulfill before going through Hermione's checklist for tonight. They hadn't talked at all about what tomorrow would hold, but Ron couldn't help but fear that after tonight his days sharing a bed with Hermione would be at an end. Even talk about the apparently very honest conversations Hermione's mum had had with her about sex did little to convince Ron that they'd allow her to stay with him.

He wondered if Hermione was thinking along similar lines. Though her parents' address was across the river and they had to walk south to catch the bus that would take them there, she led them north to the river instead. They moved slowly, ordering breakfast at a sandwich bar across from the odd library they'd first arrived at and they walked along the Promenade like they'd done that first evening in Australia. They ate their bacon butties on the edge of the pavement, legs dangling as they looked over the now familiar Brisbane skyline.

He thought about the itinerary he'd found that first day and how they could finally cross off step five. They had the address, right there in Hermione's hand: 117 Highgate Hill. It turns out that the impossible task of finding two people in a city of two million was not quite so impossible.

She leaned into his shoulder comfortably. He could feel her jaw move against him as she finished the last bit of bacon.

"Do you want to go over it again?" he queried.

"Not really."

"Hermione," he managed a laugh at the evasive response.

"You knock, say you're selling encyclopedias. I'll transfigure a book so you have something to hold. They'll say 'no, thank you' because my parents hate traveling salesmen - "

"Oh, well, that's wonderful,," Ron laughed at the revelation that her parents would dislike him on sight.

"Then you leave and that's it," she shrugged. "I stand in the back and...I watch." Ron could detect the slightest bit of guilt in her voice at the minor role she would play.

"Well, that's what you said you wanted, right?"

"Yes," she replied meekly. Ron knew she wasn't ready to speak directly to her parents and certainly not ready to reverse the charm and explain herself. This was just about seeing them. She hadn't even dared to carry a picture around with her all year. Today was simply about resting her eyes on her parents and seeing that her spell had worked, that they were safe and happy because of her actions. She'd see she'd done the right thing. This would be the first step toward bringing them home. This would be another step to being okay again.

Each time he thought they were prepared and ready to set off for Highgate Hill though, she'd run her hands through her mane of hair and insist she wasn't ready. After many attempts and a few less than subtle kisses on the bank of the river, Ron finally succeeded in hoisting her to her feet and they set off for the western suburbs. The bus ride was quiet and she just leaned into his shoulder, staring at the passing scenery and counting the stops until they arrived.

"It's a nice neighborhood," he remarked when the bus finally dropped them in a green neighborhood full of beautiful homes with spacious gardens full of tropical plants and palm trees. She said nothing, but just continued to walk slowly alongside him. "You don't even have to see them today if you don't want," he assured knowingly. "I can do it. I can just check that they're there."

"Here, you need a tie." She ignored his words and instead reached into the beaded bag then and pulled out a handsome necktie.

"When did you get this?" he laughed in surprise at the random article of clothing.

"You ought to remember it. You wore it at your brother's wedding. It was in the bag all year."

"And you repacked it? What, did you fancy us going to dinner parties?" he snorted with laughter and when she blushed faintly he could tell it wasn't far from the truth. She wanted to get dressed up and have fancy dinner dates. "I never understood the point of these," he complained then as she slipped the tie around his neck right there on the street corner.

"What do you mean?" He watched as she scrunched her face up, folding and tying.

"I mean, who decided tying a piece of fabric around a man's neck was fashionable," he grumbled.

"I think you look handsome," she remarked plainly, readjusting it. Ron looked down at his attire uncomfortably, unsure why traveling salesmen even had to wear a tie. "Maybe you could wear it tonight."

"Tonight?" He raised his eyebrows.

"To dinner."

"Right." He wondered for a moment if this was another thing that pleased Hermione that he should file away. Like being able to cook and get around a Muggle city.

"Let's go." She took a deep breath and began walking. He was grateful to see the nerves from that morning beginning to fade. Whether it was the playful banter about the tie or the talk of tonight, she was back in the lead. Wrapping her hand around his long fingers, she set off down the suburban street with a confident and excited air. They weren't stalling anymore.

He couldn't believe she'd got them here. He reflected on the long journey as they continued to wind down the street. A foreign alley to a rainy Dijon square to a two day train ride to Viktor Krum's. He laughed, thinking back on all the dumb mistakes he'd made along the way. A crowded Mumbai train station and a dusty road in Madyha Pradesh, the shrimp ponds in Thailand and the spiders threatening overhead in the Wet Tropics. It had been a crazy trip, but he knew he should expect nothing less after the last seven years.

They'd both practically memorised the neighborhood map that morning so they didn't pause at any of the crossroads or hesitate at all when they made a left on Kenyon Street then a right on Barton Avenue. Her hand was sweaty in his as they continued the walk to 117 Highgate Hill, but she still walked confidently onward. He gave her hand a squeeze and offered a smile.

"Maybe we can get lunch after," he proposed, knowing it was still early in the day.

"Maybe."

"Then...go to the cam-ist?"

"Chemist," she corrected with a smile. "Close." Chemist. Ron tried to commit the word to memory. He wondered how the chemist even worked and how exactly you went about buying these Muggle contraceptives. A brief moment of horror flashed over him as he wondered if perhaps you had to get fitted for them. "That won't take but a minute," she assured then, pulling him out of the horrible image of an old Muggle measuring his cock like Madame Malkin measured his inseam. "We'll have a good bit of the afternoon still."

He wondered what kind of other preparations she had to make. He wasn't entirely sure how one prepared for sex. He wondered if he shouldn't have had that wank this morning or eaten bacon for breakfast. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten everything. He probably ought to have a shower again when they got back to the hotel and brush his teeth a time or two. He ought to turn down the bed and maybe find the station on the telly that played music. And candles. Charlie had talked to him about candles. Perhaps he should buy some of those at the chemist. Because she wanted to make it perfect and he wanted to make it perfect for her. All he wanted was to make her happy.

"Where do you want to go to dinner?"

"I don't know, I've always thought that place along the Promenade looked nice." Ron grinned, knowing the exact restaurant. It was the one he'd spied their first night in Brisbane.

Ron wanted to tell her he agreed, but they both fell into silence as they made the final turn onto Highgate Hill and number 117 became visible at the end of the cul-de-sac.

It was a quaint bungalow raised up on stilts with a red roof and a small veranda where two small chairs sat. Ron saw the faintest makings of a smile form on Hermione's face at the sight of the two chairs and the mental picture of her mum and dad sitting there in the evening hours. Ron's heart swelled with pride then. Everybody in the world could call it selfish, but she'd given her parents a life of peace this year, freedom to tend to the garden and soak up the Queensland sun. Coming to a sudden halt at the end of the drive, she handed him his rucksack, which she'd skilfully transfigured to look like a briefcase, and gave him a shove toward the door.

Ron straightened his tie nervously and gave a loud swallow. For all his assurances to Hermione, he was quite terrified to approach her parents. He knew they wouldn't recognise him, but the fear still gripped him. Hell, what if they did actually want to buy encyclopedias and he had none to sell. They were Hermione's parents, after all, of course they'd want books filled with knowledge. He glanced behind to look to Hermione. She was standing by the chain link fence at the corner of the neighbor's yards, wringing her hands together and staring nervously at the front door.

Ron turned back around to face the door and stepped slowly toward it, noticing for the first time a flowerbox full of dry soil, but devoid of flowers. He frowned at the odd sight and continued on, looking down as he tried to recall the sales pitch Hermione had given him about the fictional Encyclopedias he was supposed to be selling. When he looked to the ground he couldn't help but notice weeds had come through the stones in the walkway. Some were quite tall, brushing his ankles, indicating they'd been growing for quite some time. Ron pushed the thoughts slowly crawling into his brain away and focused instead on the two chairs on the veranda. They were angled toward each other and he could see rings on the small table between them where the heat from a cup of tea had likely warped the wood. The sight was a comfort and helped assuage the pesky feeling growing inside him that the house was uninhabited. When he finally reached the door he felt his stomach lurch. There was a thick coating of dust on the doorknob. Not just dust blown up from the garden, but the type of dust that accumulated when nobody had touched it for months.

Nobody lived here.

Nobody had lived here for quite some time. All her worry and anxiety over seeing them today and they weren't even here. He looked back to Hermione, trying to disguise his horror. He knew she couldn't see the weeds and the dust. She saw the two chairs and that was all. For all her delays, all the dragging of her feet and the avoidance all week, she looked hopeful now. More hopeful than he'd perhaps seen her all year. So he rapped on the door with his knuckles, knowing full well nobody would answer.

He waited and knocked again.

"You know, they're probably still at work," she called from the edge of the neighbor's yard. "We really ought to have waited until the evening."

"Do you want to wait?" Ron wasn't sure why he asked the question. He just knew he needed her to realise it herself. He couldn't tell her. This was all they had. This was the end of the search.

Hermione didn't answer, but her feet traveled up the path to him. He couldn't tell whether she didn't see the details he did or she just didn't want to see them. She was smiling when she peered through the window. "Do you think it's all right to have a look inside?"

He could manage little more than a weak shrug of the shoulders in reply, his stomach twisting at the thought of what they might find. "If you keep watch, I can unlock the door. A simple freezing charm should halt the security alarm." She sounded like her typical authoritative self, which only made it that much worse. He obliged her however, turning his back to look at the four other houses in the small cul-de-sac and wondering if asking the neighbours about the Wilkins would be of any use.

The door clicked open and he heard Hermione mutter about the peculiarity of no alarm as she stepped through the doorway. There were no holes in the wall, no scuff marks or shattered glass. None of the sleek angular furniture looked at all out of place. The drawn shades gave it a foreboding air, but a quick survey showed no sign of a struggle. Releasing a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding, Ron looked closer at the details of the home. It was sparsely decorated and oddly minimalistic. The furniture looked nothing like that which decorated their home back on Stuart Avenue and though there were pictures on the wall, they were generic landscapes of the beach. There was nothing personal anywhere to give any clue about the inhabitants.

"It must all be rented," she remarked, passing her hand over the black leather sofa and making her way to the kitchen. It had been kept as neat as the sitting room, but Ron wondered if she noticed the accumulating dust on the range and the windowsill. He looked up to the clock on the wall, noticing the small hand was an hour behind his watch and claiming it was already three o'clock when it was only two. The electric lights still worked, as did the television, though he couldn't seem to find more than five channels. The promising signs seemed to give Hermione a bit more strength to continue exploring.

She combed the bathroom and bedrooms in search of some sign that this had, in fact, been her parents' home, growing more frantic with each cupboard and drawer. He could see her hopeful eyes deaden with each empty drawer though and she looked like she'd been punched in the stomach when she finally opened the closet in the bedroom. Standing behind her, Ron put a hand on her shoulder and tried to turn her away. Two old blankets and a couple of mothballs were the only things there.

"Come on." He turned her away slowly, hoping it was just the light streaming through the gap in the curtains that made her eyes look suddenly glassy.

"This might not even be their house," she announced defiantly. "You know, I bet they gave you the wrong address."

"Probably." Gently, he steered her out of the bedroom.

"You sure it was 117?"

"I could have fucked up," he assured, happy to take the blame even if he knew it wasn't true.

"Or - or maybe they just - they went away for a long weekend," she stammered hopefully, as if to convince him. "They're probably at the beach and they packed their things. Mum loves the beach." Ron didn't bother asking why they'd taken all their clothes for a weekend at the beach. It was peculiar how some things in the house were in order, but other things not. Like the neatly trimmed lawn and working electricity, but the empty flowerbeds and closets.

"We'll ask the neighbours, yeah?" he proposed, but she didn't seem eager and practically hid behind him as he led her outside and around the cul de sac to knock on the first door. The first neighbour was an old man with wisps of hair growing out of his nostrils which reminded Ron of the hair in Kreacher's ears.

"Yeah, er, hello, sir," Ron tried to remember his manners.

"WHAT?" The old gentleman barked so loudly Ron wondered if perhaps he had hair in his ears, too.

"Hello!" Ron shouted back.

"ARE YOU SELLING SOMETHING?" The man looked none too happy by the prospect. Ron suddenly recalled he was wearing the tie Hermione had put on and holding a briefcase.

"Er - no. I'm not."

"You're selling what?"

"I'M NOT SELLING ANYTHING." Ron felt guilty shouting at the old man, but it seemed the only way he could hear him. "DO YOU KNOW THE WILKINS?" He spoke slowly and jerked his thumb over to the house her parents had supposedly inhabited.

"That house? Yeah, new people in there every year." He sounded quite irritable and waved his hand.

"NEW PEOPLE ARE THERE?"

"Every year it's someone new. Least this time there weren't any bloody kids," he continued to grumble.

"SO THEY WERE NEW THIS YEAR?"

"This year, last year, I can't remember." He waved his hand dismissively again. Ron turned to look at Hermione, who was still standing beside him. All the crotchety old man had confirmed was that the house was indeed a rental and the Grangers had perhaps lived there. Thanking him, they retreated down the steps to inquire at another house. Two had no one at home and the third could only confirm that the man and woman who lived at the house had given out sugar-free candy on Halloween.

Returning to the vacant house, Hermione collapsed on the steps.

"Let's just...wait a while longer." The heartbreaking words sounded very much like a plea and Ron could hardly say no. So they sat on the step and they waited. They waited for what felt like hours beneath the hot Queensland sun, but when Ron glanced at his watch he saw it still wasn't even three o'clock yet. "They're at the beach," she muttered finally and he knew she was grasping at straws that she didn't even believe.

"Maybe," he replied softly, his voice sounding weaker than hers. He'd known when they set out from the Burrow that the possibility might arise that they might not be able to locate her parents. The futility of their search the past week had certainly made him consider that reality a bit more. He thought he'd readied himself for what he would say or do, but he knew now he had no idea. They were so close. They had found them. Her parents had lived here. He pulled the crumpled address out of his pocket. They'd found the old practice. They'd found where her parents lived, but for some reason they had left. He was relieved only by the fact that it didn't look like they'd been chased. "We can stay longer." He moved a large hand to her back then, not sure if staying was even what she wanted.

While she didn't reply, she made no effort to move, either. She just continued to rest on the step, her elbows resting atop her thighs and her head between her hands. Ron couldn't tell if she was tired or deep in thought, perhaps playing over the countless possibilities that could explain their absence from the home. Maybe the rent got too high. Maybe they didn't like their old crotchety neighbour. They could have simply left the neighborhood and moved somewhere else in Brisbane. But they also could have left Brisbane and moved somewhere else in Australia. Or they could have left Australia and moved somewhere else in the world.

Any way he looked at it, the Grangers were lost to them.

One look at Hermione told him she knew that, too. She continued to stare at the neatly trimmed grass, the one positive sign she could cling to, but even that last hope seemed to fail her. He could only watch as she clinched her eyes shut, blew a loud shaky breath out through her nose and moved her hands around her head.

They were gone and she had no way to find them. Ron watched a single tear slide out from the corner of her eyes, which were still clenched shut.

He had no placating words this time to stop the tears that began to fall from behind her tightly closed eyes. She was trying to keep it together, he could tell, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened so all that he heard were shaky breaths and sniffles. His hand still rested on her back and he could feel her trembling as she continued to weep silently, trying so hard to swallow the cries that threatened. His long fingers spread out across her back, moving slowly in a pitiful attempt to soothe her. He knew this was beyond the kind of thing a kiss could cure and he felt stupid and helpless. It sickened him that she felt the need to hide her cries, to fight against the sadness that came with his empty house and the loss of any lead as to where her parents were.

Her shoulders soon began to shake with the effort of keeping her cries hidden and he was almost relieved when he heard her lose the fight and the horrible gasp finally sound. It was a low, throaty almost guttural sound and she clapped her hand to her mouth instinctively when it loosed, like she was appalled she'd let it sound from her own mouth. He stretched his long fingers across her back, up to her shoulders, somehow trying to tell her it was okay even though he knew it wasn't.

All her stalling, all her fears about reversing the spell were for naught. She claimed she'd prepared herself, that she tried to convince herself she wouldn't find them, but he knew no amount of preparation had readied her for this. He could hear her starting to come apart now, great heaving sobs beginning to rack her body. He felt a sharp pain behind his ribs at the sound that spread upward through his torso, like he was being physically gutted. He pressed his palm and fingers into her back then, as if the warmth from his hand could somehow replace the giant gaping hole he knew she now had in her heart.

The feel of his hand seemed to remind her he was there and when she crashed against his chest and his arms moved around her, he knew then the reality had sunk in.

They would never find her parents.

She'd hidden them too well, disguised their identity to a point where she had no way to locate them now.

She poured out her anguish in a storm of tears that dampened the silk tie they'd playfully tied a little over an hour ago. He pressed his chin against her temple, squeezing her to him, trying to think of something, anything to say to help soothe her. She was so undone, it made any time she'd ever cried before seem like crocodile tears. Every fear she held in about her parents seemed to finally emerge. Every single fear or worry she'd held in the last year seemed to awaken within her. Everything she'd endured and kept silent about for months now poured out. The sounds were animalistic almost, reminding him of his mother's howls over Fred's body. He kept thinking it had to stop, but it continued. Convulsive sobs racked her body at an uncontrollable pace until she was left gasping for air against him.

"Come on, Hermione," he finally spoke, his hand moving around her back in calm, deliberate circles. "Look at me." But she seemed to make no effort to halt the great rasping sobs that made her shoulders shake violently against him. When he called her name a second time, she managed to take in a staggered hiccuping breath against him and raise her head off his chest.

He could tell she wanted to speak, but every time she seemed to attempt to collect herself, she came undone again.

"It's my f-fault," she stammered, "I'll n-never find them and it's all my fault!" Then she broke into another series of desperate and uncontrollable sobs.

This wasn't Hermione.

"Hermione," he called her name again as the heaving sobs came so fast they almost seemed to choke her. She began sucking in breaths in a manner he could tell was quickly moving beyond her control. She wasn't getting enough air. "Hermione, stop, you're scaring me." He made no effort to disguise the panic in his voice now as he seized her shoulders.

Her normally soft brown eyes appeared almost black, as they stared blankly ahead, hardly seeming to notice Ron, and her mouth fell open wide like she was trying to speak, but all she did was gasp in air in short, ragged breaths. "Hermione, stop," he spoke strongly, trying to disguise his own fear as he realised what was happening to her was a physical reaction. Her eyes were black because her pupils were dilated. He could feel her pulse racing against his thumb when he moved his hands to either side of her splotchy face. She began sucking in more shallow breaths as tears continued to stream down her cheeks. Ron again felt a visceral pain at the pitiful sight.

"Stop," he gritted, seizing her cheeks between his hands. "You're stronger than this."

She avoided his gaze, still hiccuping with each breath so that her whole body gave a jerk. He got the sense that, if not for his hands on either side of her face keeping her upright, she would collapse in a heap.

"Look at me," he repeated, drawing her face so close he rested his forehead against hers. She continued to focus her eyes downward, her breathing still terrifyingly shallow. He knew if she didn't get enough air she'd pass out. A part of him feared that that might be what she wanted at this point. Despite the desperate grip he had on her, he couldn't force her eyes to look at him and she seemed to be making no visible effort to calm herself. "Hermione, please, look at me," he pleaded. "You need to breathe."

"It's - all my fault," she gasped again.

"It's not your fault."

"It is my fault."

"It's not," he repeated.

"I'll never see them again and it's my fault." She still wasn't looking at him, but he could see her dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes up close now. They were still brimming with tears and he wondered how she could possibly have any left to drip down her cheeks.

"Come on and breathe. Just breathe, Hermione. I know you're stronger than this." He spoke calmly, trying to bring her breathing back to normal by taking steadying breaths alongside her. When he finally released her face from his hands, she just crumpled against him. It wasn't like before, though. Her cheeks were still wet, but he could feel her ragged breaths slowly growing longer against him. They were shaky attempts, but they were attempts.

She was trying.

"It's going to be okay," he kept repeating until her breathing finally got under control again.

"No, it's not," she creaked against him, the first normal words that hadn't come out like a gasp or a hiccup in at least an hour.

"What's not?"

"It's not okay."

"It is. We can still find them."

"How?"

"I dunno. We'll go to the Muggle police. You can report missing people, right?"

"And what do I tell them? The last time I saw them was nearly a year ago."

"They've gotta be able to do something."

"We don't even know if they're in Australia anymore!" she laughed at the absurdity of the situation. "They could be anywhere! Literally anywhere in the whole world."

"We'll find them."

"How?" she fired. "How can you find someone if you have no way of knowing where they are?"

As soon as she said it, Ron felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier.

"With this!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the smooth piece of metal that had been a constant fixture there for the last year. He figured now it was time to pass on Dumbledore's gift. Holding the Deluminator aloft, he looked to her with suddenly hopeful and confident eyes. "Do you want to find your parents?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to find them more than anything in the whole world?"

"I suppose, yes."

"You have to know. You have to know that that's the only thing you want. That it's the only thing that'll make you feel whole. It's the only thing you need in this world." He pressed the contraption into her hand and wrapped her fingers around it.

"I just want to find them." She didn't seem to feel the same urgency he was describing.

"But you've got to feel that. It's got to be the only thing in the world you want. It'll take you to them. I promise." His eyes closed and he wrapped his own hands over hers then. As he spoke, it suddenly seemed to dawn on Hermione that he was describing his own feelings this year, the feelings that had brought him back to her. She looked to him and for the briefest of moments it was as if they both remembered what they'd planned to do tonight, but it quickly passed.

"You really think it'll work?" she asked skeptically.

"It did for me," Ron stated confidently. "But you were all I was thinking about." He didn't even hesitate when he spoke and there was a long pause as the confession seemed to echo around the empty veranda.

"But I said your name," she broke the silence at last. "I - I said your name. That's how this thing worked, right?" She held up the the strange silver object. "I said your name and you said my voice came out of it. My parents don't know I exist." Ron had hoped she wouldn't point out that very large flaw in his plan.

"Maybe they're reading Shakespeare," he offered, and she surprised him by actually turning the sides of her mouth up in a tiny smile. "It's going to be okay." It was about as far from okay as they'd been the entire trip, but he wouldn't let them fail now. They'd come this far. He wouldn't go home without the Grangers. They were her family and she was his. He wouldn't leave Australia without them.

She closed her eyes then, he knew probably just to give them a rest after the last hour of near constant tears. Her face probably ached too. He wondered what she would do if she could see herself. Her skin was red and blotchy, her eyes bloodshot and the skin around them puffy and swollen. She looked like she'd been hit with a stinging jinx.

"Do you want to go back to the hotel and lie down?" He knew he didn't even need to ask as he hauled her to her feet. Most of her weight leaned against him and he was impressed by her ability to even put one foot in front of the other. Her eyes were fixed on the ground and his eyes were so transfixed on her that they didn't even notice the shaggy-haired young man suddenly walking toward 117 Highgate Hill.

"Help you two with anything?" he called out, his dark eyes fixing on Ron and Hermione. Ron's hand tightened around Hermione's and he reached to his jacket pocket instinctively as the young man approached them. He was wearing a ragged pair of dark blue jeans and a long-sleeved maroon rugby shirt that also looked quite tattered. His dark hair curled around his ears, a bit like Ron's, but his hair was much thicker and wavier. Ron could see the distinct evidence that he'd just been in a fight as he sported a fresh cut above his right eye and a large bruise on his cheekbone. He gripped Hermione's hand even tighter.

"No, we're fine," Hermione replied curtly.

"Who are you?" the unkempt young man asked.

"Who are you?" Ron shot back, not comfortable with how long his eyes seemed to linger on Hermione.

"I asked you first," he laughed, seeming to find it all rather amusing. "Oi, I see you've had as rough a day as I have!" he chuckled again and pointed to Hermione's puffy eyes.

"Who are you?" Ron demanded again without cracking a grin.

"I cut the grass here," the boy relented with a sigh. "I know the flowers and all ain't lookin' the best, but my whipper snipper broke last week and they only pay me to trim the grass and get the mail."

"They?" Hermione interrogated.

"Yeah, are you looking for David and Emily?"

"No, we..." Likely so used to asking for Monica and Wendell, Hermione nearly dismissed the young man's casual inquiry. It took a moment for the words to register. Her puffy eyes widened and she squeezed Ron's hand so hard he thought she might break several small bones. This stranger in tattered clothes knew her parents. "Y-yes, we are," she stammered. He could practically feel her quivering against him, trying to disguise her emotion. For a moment he thought she was going to burst into tears all over again. "You know David and Emily?"

"You know David and Emily?" The young man looked skeptical as he walked by them and grabbed a handful of mail from the box out front. Ron cursed himself for not even bothering to check the box earlier.

"Yes, do you know where they are?" The urgency in Hermione's voice seemed to be completely lost on the young man.

"Yeah," the boy replied simply, casually flipping through her parents' mail. He could see Hermione bubbling with an obvious jealousy, looking very much like she'd like to rip it out of his dirty fingers. "They're in Perth."

"On holiday?" Ron inquired hopefully, unsure where Perth was, but thinking what a laugh they'd have if Hermione had been right and they'd just gone to the beach.

"No, they live there now," the young man dismissed flippantly. "Haven't lived here for months." Ron watched Hermione's face fall at the words.

"W- why did they leave Brisbane?"

"Who wants to know?" The shaggy-haired youth challenged, his dark eyes narrowing at the two of them. Hermione narrowed her already swollen bloodshot eyes right back at him.

"Why did they leave?" she fired again, ignoring his inquiry. Ron could see she seemed oddly threatened by the young man, who clearly didn't know this was not the day to trifle with Hermione Granger. "Who are you?" she demanded again.

"I told you, I cut the grass," the stranger sighed wearily. "They told me to keep cuttin' it and look after the place."

"So they're coming back, then?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Nope," the boy dismissed flippantly and waved around a postcard that he pulled out of his jacket. Ron saw Hermione's eyes lock on the handwriting, which he recognized from all the letters she'd received at Hogwarts as her mother's.

There was proof at least, right there in front of them, that they were okay. Her mum had written a postcard.

"Can I see that, please?" she asked, her lip trembling, her eyes never leaving the neat cursive script.

"What's it to you?"

"Let me see the damn postcard!" Hermione demanded and he could see her getting heated, despite the tremble in her voice. Ron's eyes raised at how quickly her temper had flared and the language he'd never heard her use before. Her eyes hadn't left the postcard still in the young man's hand.

"Do you want to come out to eat with us?" Ron blurted out suddenly. Hermione looked to Ron, clearly shocked and appalled by his invitation. Ron wasn't sure why he'd asked it, all he knew was that whatever this peculiar young man knew, interrogating him on the street was hardly the way to discover it.

The young man glanced at his watch and seemed to weigh the invitation for a moment, sizing up both Ron and Hermione. Ron couldn't help but think his eyes seemed to again rest longer on Hermione.

"I could eat," he shrugged.

"Then come join us," Ron invited, ignoring Hermione's horrified expression.

"I can't stay too long 'cause I'm leavin' town today, but yeah, I could eat," he shrugged and gave a toothy smile. Ron noticed one of his front teeth was chipped. He wondered if he'd chipped it in the same messy encounter that had given him the black eye.

"Where are you going?" Hermione inquired curiously, narrowing her eyes again. The young man just laughed, folded the postcard and shoved it back into his pocket.

"To Perth."

Despite the fact that Ron was the one who initiated the late lunch, they allowed their raggedy companion to select the eatery, mostly because neither had any idea where the closest restaurant to 117 Highgate Hill even was. The pub they walked to was the epitome of a hole-in-the-wall, dark and smoky, but with an incredible array of sandwiches whose listing took up an entire wall. The young man seemed to know the staff and clientele quite well and proudly claimed to have eaten every sandwich on the enormous menu. The delectable combinations of meat and cheese would usually make Ron salivate, but he was far too busy surveying their young companion to think about food.

He was a peculiar sort of fellow, and Ron could tell Hermione didn't seem quite ready to trust him yet. Ron wasn't sure why he was so willing to believe him, but there was something honest and straightforward about him, reminding him almost of Luna. He was perfectly willing to sit down and have a meal with the two of them, despite the fact that he hadn't even gotten so much as a name out of them yet. In fact, he seemed quite eager for the company. From the state of his clothing, Ron reckoned he looked as if he didn't go out to eat often, despite his friendliness with everyone at the pub.

He was perfectly willing to share details of his life and explain how long he'd been cutting the grass for David and Emily. Ron noticed he still used the surname Hermione had invented for them and Ron couldn't tell if Hermione seemed more saddened than relieved by the news that they still weren't quite the Grangers.

"So round December, they say they start feeling funny, see," he informed, stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth. "Not funny like ill, but...funny in themselves, y'know? An' everyone here thought they'd gone round the twist 'cause they started sayin' things like they didn't belong here. That this wasn't where they were...supposed to be." Ron felt Hermione's hand suddenly seize his thigh, her nails digging into his legs.

Her spell had failed. Or it was failing. Whatever had happened, it had gone wrong somehow. "

Most people thought they were crackers when they started calling themselves different names, but they told me they kept callin' each other those names in their dreams so they reckoned it was what their names was supposed to be."

"Why'd they tell you all this?" Hermione asked, clearly still as suspicious as she'd been outside 117 Highgate Hill.

"Because I'm the only one who listened." he shrugged then. "I believed them."

"But that's...crackers," Ron used the same terminology the young man had. "I mean thinking you're somebody else and all?" he tested the youth.

"Why?" he frowned, looking a bit put out by Ron's comment. "I think you can spend your whole life sayin' ''I'm a dentist', but then you wake up one day and you say 'I don't want to be a dentist no more. I think there's more out there'. An' they thought there was more," he shrugged simply. "More than just tendin' to people's teeth in Brisbane, at least, so they packed up the car and they left."

"To Perth?" Ron didn't know Hermione's parents well, but he knew enough to know that didn't sound at all like the sensible dentists from Henley-by-the-Thames.

"Not at first, no." Ron watched a large blob of mayonnaise drop onto his ragged shirt. He was the only one eating. Despite being the ones who asked him to join them, he and Hermione had been so rooted to his narrative, they'd hardly touched their food. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice. "First they went to Sydney. Then Melbourne, then Adelaide. They just kept movin' west, I reckon. I get postcards from them from all over, wherever they are. I can show 'em to you if you want."

"Why do they keep moving?" Hermione asked desperately, like Ron likely fearing the worst.

"Don't know. Just tryin' to find a fit, figure out where they belong, I reckon. Nothin's felt right 'til now." He pulled the postcard from earlier out of his pocket again.

"What's it say?"

"Read it." He readily handed Hermione the card. There was a picture of a beautiful ocean sunset on the front and the postcard was made out to the Highgate Hill address where they all had just come from.

Hello from Perth! We arrived here a month ago and were quite ready to continue on when we found the house. It's a brick house with ivy climbing the side and the neighbour has an orange cat that always comes into our yard. It feels better here somehow. Closer to home or whatever home used to be. Something still feels amiss, but we are going to try to find it here. Our lease in Paddington ends this month so you no longer need to tend to the grass. Thank you for being a wonderful friend. I hope you'll come visit us in Perth.

"Ron," Hermione gasped as she read over the words again and again. "That sounds like..."

"I know." Though he'd only been there once he could recognise the description. It was her house back in Henley. The orange cat. The ivy climbing the wall. They were starting to remember parts of who they are. He'd never seen Hermione look so happy to find out one of her spells hadn't worked.

"Is that why you're going to Perth?" Hermione was having difficulty containing her excitement now.

"Well, my luck's sort of run out here in Brisbane, if you know what I mean," the young man replied vaguely and pointed to his face. "The job cuttin' the grass was the last bit o' cash flow I had so I figure, why not Perth? I've got a friend or two there anyway been tellin' me to visit forever."

"So you're just going to go to Perth? Leave everything here behind?" Ron queried.

"Not much I'm leavin' behind really," he dismissed, not sounding too sad over the fact. "Besides, I've moved lots of times. I've lived in Sydney and Newcastle and Canberra. I've even spent a few years in Melbourne." He seemed quite proud of his list of cities.

"So you just travel around?" Ron looked to the young man with a certain admiration.

"I go where I want, yeah," he shrugged. "Perth seems nice enough. I was goin' to leave today. Just came by the house one last time."

"You're leaving for Perth today?"

"Yep."

"And you know where my – " Hermione corrected herself. "Where David and Emily live?"

"Er - uh, no. Not exactly," he admitted after a long pause, picking at a piece of food that had gotten stock behind his chipped tooth.

"They didn't give you their address?"

"No, just the uh - the postcard here." He turned his attention back to his food suddenly.

"But you're going to try and look them up while you're there?" Ron queried.

"I was planning on tryin' to find em, yeah."

"And you believe all that, about them feeling like different people?"

"Told you, I think I could wake up every day and say 'that's blue'. But then I wake up tomorrow and it looks red. And if that's what I believe, then who's anyone to tell me different." Ron felt a rush of affection toward the scruffy young man with the black eye. "So I'm leavin' today. You can come with me, if you like," he invited with a casual shrug, like he invited strangers whose names he hadn't even learned yet out with him all the time.

"Come with you to Perth?" Ron nearly choked at the offer and looked to Hermione for guidance.

"Yeah."

"You'd let us come with you?" Ron gaped.

"I invited you, didn't I?" the young man laughed. Ron looked again to Hermione. "Think about it." He shrugged again and then, rather conveniently, announced he had to use the toilet so Ron and Hermione could discuss things.

"I think we should go with him," Ron announced immediately before the young man was even out of earshot.

"Ron, we don't even know who he is!" she laughed absurdly.

"He knows your parents."

"Yes, how does he know them? It all seems a bit strange, don't you think?"

"What, that your spell failed?" Ron challenged.

"I didn't say that!" she snapped. "I just I mean it's all a bit convenient, isn't it? That he just so happens to come by the house and he just so happens to be leaving for Perth today!"

"You don't believe in coincidence?" Ron shrugged.

"I do, but it just - you're the one who wouldn't even trust Archibald Darling!" she reminded him of his hesitance to believe the Ministry employee in London at the start of their trip.

"Well, I was right wasn't I? The twitchy little ferret sent us to the wrong Portkey!"

"That's different."

"Look, I know I'm the last one to say let's go off with a stranger, but - I mean, that was your mum's handwriting, wasn't it?"

Hermione grew quiet at the reference to the postcard that seemed almost sacred now. She looked down to where it rested on the table. Ron wondered if the young man had left it there deliberately.

"Do you really think we can trust him? He's a bit odd, don't you think?"

"Yes on both accounts," Ron replied without a moment's hesitation.

"Do you realize where Perth even is, Ron?"

"Who cares?"

"It's on the other side of the country."

"So?"

"So he didn't say how we'd be travelling - "

"I reckon in his car."

" – or where we'd be staying."

"We've got a tent."

"Yes, that's all back at the hotel," Hermione reminded him. "We've got to go back to get our things and we really ought to send another note off to your parents and let them know - "

"Hermione, this bloke is the way to your parents. I know it."

"We don't know anything about him! We don't even know his name!" Hermione reminded him of the ridiculousness of the situation.

"I say we go," Ron spoke confidently. He wasn't sure why he wasn't more wary of the stranger. Despite the cuts on his face, his threadbare jeans and scuffed trainers hardly made him look like a threat. His gut inclination to reach for his wand after being approached by the young man had passed. The only odd thing he could detect was that he seemed oddly protective of her parents, which Ron wasn't sure was a bad thing. One thing was certain- he was their key to finding them. He refused to let her parents disappear now. Not when the key to finding them was just around the corner using the loo.

"Why do you trust him?"

Because I have to.

"Because if he's not who he says he is then I'm a Blimmering Humdinger."

Hermione gave a reluctant smile at the silly reference. The action looked painful almost, like the muscles in her face couldn't work after this afternoon.

"I think you need to get some sleep tonight." He reached up to touch her still tear-stained cheek gently. Her eyes closed instinctively. "I think you need to get some sleep and I think we need to go with him," he affirmed, keeping his hand on her cheek.

"So whaddya think?" The young man returned to the table, still wiping his hands on his trousers. "You gonna join me?" He grabbed what chips were left on his plate and stuffed them in his mouth.

"Yes." It was Hermione's tentative voice that sounded first. "Yes, but we need to stop by our hotel first, if that's all right. Get some things together and send a message off."

"Sure."

"And er – you're sure we have to leave today? We couldn't wait til tomorrow? It's all a bit sudden."

"I've got some outstanding debts, if you know what I mean," the young man whispered. Ron wondered if the cut above his eye had anything to do with said debts.

"We'll – we'll leave today then," Ron stammered, looking to Hermione for assurance.

"Yes," she spoke slower than him. "We'll leave with you tonight."

"I'm Ron." He outstretched his hand to the young man finally. "This is Hermione." He grinned, a wide toothy grin that made Ron think he was quite happy to have company. He squeezed Ron's hand tight and his eyes twinkled.

"Hugo."


	38. Chapter 38

After all that had been revealed, Ron expected her to be drained of energy, to collapse in a heap on the bed while he got their belongings together. Hermione was all aflutter though, bustling about from room to room in their hotel suite, checking under sofas they'd never sat in and in cabinets they'd never used.

"What are you doing?" he laughed, amused by her frenetic behaviour. "We're mostly packed, aren't we?" He walked into the bedroom and glanced around. Aside from his dirty pants and socks in the corner and his toothbrush by the sink, he saw very little to pack.

"We're travelling with a Muggle."

"So?"

"So we have to look like Muggles." She threw him his rucksack then pulled the tent out of the beaded bag.

"So I have to carry all this?" Ron complained, looking at the bulky tent.

"Down to his car, yes." She hurriedly enlarged her beaded bag until it looked like an over-the-shoulder bag large enough to hold her belongings. "Do you think we ought to tell your parents where we're going?" She halted her frenzied packing a moment. Ron just gave a half-hearted shrug in reply.

"They didn't know where I was all year." It felt strange to have to check in with his mum and dad now because their location was changing.

"That doesn't mean your mum's not sick with worry now," she reprimanded.

"They know we're in Australia."

"They ought to know where you're going and what's going on!" There was the slightest tremble in her voice that he thought might hint at her own guilt and her own lost parents that silenced any further protest.

"Okay."

"So why don't you go to the racetrack and send a message off?"

"To the racetrack!" Ron laughed absurdly and it spoke to how much they'd used Muggle transportation that the first thing he thought was how long the bus ride to Ascot would take.

"Yes, just Apparate there and tell Kingsley to let your mum and dad know that we - we have our first real lead and we'll be in Perth in a few days time."

"Right. A few days." He offered a smile at the hopeful words, but she just resumed her frantic attempt to pack.

So Ron focused on the Muggle painting at the Ministry office and the horses permanently stuck soaring over the hedge. The next thing he heard was a loud clatter and several colourful swear words that could easily have come from his own repertoire that he soon realised came from Leland, who had fallen out of his chair in surprise.

"What? What is it?" Dathan Wisecarver came running from down the hall, his shiny green robes billowing behind him.

"It's nothing. Ron Weasley just Apparated right into the room. Scared me to death," Leland grumbled and pointed toward Ron with his thumb.

"Sorry, mate, but we're in a bit of a hurry, Hermione and me."

"Good news, I hope," Wisecarver offered, immediately leading Ron down the corridor to his office.

"Well, we found someone who knows her parents so we're leaving with him for Perth tonight."

"Someone?"

"Some bloke who cut the grass for them this year. Hugo's his name."

"You're going across the country with some bloke who cuts the grass?" Leland looked as skeptical as Hermione had.

"Yeah," Ron laughed nervously. "Mental, right?"

"Very."

The affirmation just made Ron laugh more as Wisecarver led him down the corridor, asking him question after question about this stranger. Each query was met with the same shrug of the shoulders and 'I don't know' from Ron. He could tell both men looked doubtful about the wiseness of the plan.

"It's the only hope we have to finding them," Ron admitted quietly as he was handed the parchment, quill, and now familiar jar of red ink.

He stared down at the parchment, unsure of what to write. Technically, he was writing to Kingsley, but it was his mum and dad who he was informing. He struggled with how to make their mental plan sound any more credible.

Ron knew he should be more suspicious, but he couldn't shake the notion that they could trust Hugo. He was a bit dodgy, what with the colourful bruise on his cheek and chipped tooth, the offhand statement about outstanding debts and his insistence on leaving tonight, but the suspicions he had about nearly every other person they'd encountered since leaving the Burrow hadn't registered with Hugo.

Still, he hadn't really thought through what this next adventure would entail when he'd taken Hugo up on his offer. Travelling with a Muggle for days on end would be a challenge, to say the least. They ran more than a slight chance of exposing themselves, moreso him than Hermione, but he'd even seen Hermione slip several times in the last week, reaching for her wand in crowded places and talking freely on the street about things usually discussed at a whisper.

After much internal deliberation about how much to tell his parents, both about the state of their travelling companion and the state of Hermione, he began scribbling a brief, barely legible note.

Dear Kingsley,

The Grangers have left Brisbane and moved to Perth so we're leaving, too. We met a Muggle who knows them and he's offered to take us to Perth with him. I know what you're thinking, but he's really nice and seems to know her parents well. We will be travelling in the Muggle fashion so it will probably take a while. I'm not sure if we'll be able to write you from Perth or how we'll find her parents once we get there, but tell my mum and dad I'm not leaving Australia without them.

~ Ron Weasley

Wisecarver looked over the note with an obvious respect. The last line was a bold declaration, but after seeing Hermione come undone that afternoon, he knew it was true. If it meant going to the Muggle police and staying here in Australia for another month, then so be it.

"Good luck to you, Ron." Wisecarver bent down over his desk and began scribbling something onto a spare bit of regular parchment that he then thrust into Ron's hand. "There's a Ministry office in Perth at this address," he explained. "I can't guarantee how helpful they'll be, but you can get in touch with me from there." Ron noticed the former Quidditch star had included his own address on there.

"My brothers will never believe I met you," Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"Tell them I'm just an office worker now. We all have to grow up sometime," he dismissed. "Some sooner than others." There was a humble respect etched in Wisecarver's face as he looked toward Ron at the words that made Ron shift his feet uncomfortably.

"Right. Well, thanks, you know for - for everything."

"Good luck," Leland piped in.

"Thanks," Ron sighed. "I think we're going to need it."

They exchanged another set of goodbyes and handshakes then with a bit of destination, determination and deliberation he was right back in the hotel and Hermione was fussing about how much they still had to get in order.

"Did you send it off?" she asked without barely a glance in his direction.

"It's done," Ron affirmed.

"Do you know where the envelope Kingsley sent to us is?" she fretted, sorting through papers and folders.

"Why?"

"I'd like to have the address to send him a letter using Muggle post if we need to."

"Wisecarver gave me an address of a Ministry office in Perth and I told mum and dad it'd be a while before they heard from us again," he tried to assure, but she continued searching for the Whitehall address their Ministry credit card had arrived in. "I told them we're going across the country with a Muggle. I reckon dad'll be jealous." He tried for levity.

"You probably shouldn't talk much to him, you know."

"Who?"

"Hugo."

"Why? I talked to him at the pub and I didn't give us away!" Ron defended himself, offended by the insinuation that he couldn't keep a secret.

"Yes, but that was a twenty minute meal, not five days in the car," Hermione reminded.

"Is it really five days?" he frowned at the notion and Hermione just flung a map at him to prove it. Sure enough, there was Perth on the opposite side of the country.

"If you take up the tent and rucksack then I think we're ready."

Shouldering the heavy load, Ron looked around at the television he'd learned to operate, the sink where they'd brushed their teeth together every night, and the bed where so much had happened.

"It's a bit sad to say goodbye to this place," he remarked.

"Come on," Hermione ushered him out the door, but he could see she too looked a bit sad to leave the luxurious room that had become their home. They'd come to know most of the employees, everybody from the always smiling hotel porter who had first shown them to their room to the receptionist who continued to be unimpressed by two teenagers staying in their finest Executive Suite.

Ron could see the receptionist now frowning at him and the rucksack and tent he carried through the lobby. Nervously, he wondered if she remembered what little baggage they'd arrived with.

"I'll check out, you go and look for Hugo. He said he'd be here by 6:30!" Hermione ordered. He wasn't sure why she sounded so frantic. It didn't seem likely that Hugo would leave them behind. He'd looked positively thrilled when they'd informed him they'd join him.

Ron stood uncomfortably on the pavement waiting for the young man that was the key to locating Hermione's parents. His shaggy head soon emerged from the driver window of a small narrow car with only two doors. It was a muted green colour, the shade of mint toothpaste, and Ron heard several odd groaning noises sound from it that made him fear it might break down before even reaching him. Hugo seemed oblivious and he waved exuberantly from the window as he approached the pavement. The car looked like it could fit two grown adults in the front seat, but Ron couldn't see how it would hold a third, nevertheless all their bags. If Hugo was worried about space, he didn't show it. He was positively beaming as he popped out of the car and opened the boot.

"That's what we're going across the country in?" The most time Ron had ever spent inside a car was in the Ford Anglia flying to Hogwarts with Harry. This car looked to be about half that size. It didn't even have four doors.

"She's nice, eh?" Hugo either missed the meaning of his question or chose to ignore it. "1990 Calibra. Had her about a year now. She don't look like much yet, but I got plans for what's under that bonnet." Hugo eagerly took the rucksack from Ron's hands and lifted it into the car. "Where's your missus?" he inquired then and Ron felt his cheeks flush for some reason.

"Er - she's checking out of the hotel." Ron looked behind to see Hermione waiting impatiently and drumming her fingers on the counter.

"She okay?" Hugo asked, glancing into the hotel and then looking back at Ron.

"Yeah, why?" Ron asked dumbly.

"Y'know." Hugo motioned to his eyes and face then and Ron realised he was talking about her puffy eyes. "You guys have a fight or something?" Though it seemed like an oddly personal question for someone he'd known less than an hour, Ron couldn't help but think Hugo seemed quite concerned.

"No, no," Ron dismissed, frantically thinking of how to explain the obvious evidence on Hermione's face that she'd cried continuously for well over an hour. "She just...er - got some bad news." Ron scrambled to think of something to say. Hermione really did better in these kinds of situations when they had to improvise. "About her - er - her...cat. Her cat died," he blurted out, unsure why poor Crookshanks was the first thing that came to mind.

"Oh, that's never fun," Hugo remarked with a sigh. Then his voice brightened quite suddenly. "I had a cat once! Well, it was a stray, but he came 'round so much I made him this lil' box and set out food for him." He grinned happily at the memory. "I called him Scabby."

"Scabby?" Ron nearly choked at the almost too-familiar name for his pet.

"Kind of an ugly name, I know, but he was kind of an ugly cat with this great big scab on his chin," Hugo chuckled. "He was a good cat though. Would jump right up on my shoulders." He patted his left shoulder.

"What happened to him?"

"Hit by a car, I think. Either that or the dogs got to him. I sort of found him...in pieces."

Ron glanced back inside to Hermione, grateful she wasn't hearing this conversation and hoping very much that back at the Burrow Crookshanks was in one piece.

"That's...awful." He looked to Hugo strangely. There was a strangely cavalier vibe to everything the young man did. He didn't seem too chuffed by the story, considering he sounded like he'd liked the cat quite a lot.

"Yeah, it was," Hugo stated simply and rocked back on the heels of his plain black trainers, casting a sideward glance to the interior of the hotel. So how long you been staying here?"

"About a week," Ron muttered absentmindedly, his eyes fixed on Hermione as she walked toward him so he missed Hugo's impressed whistle and raise of the eyebrows. His hand instinctively moved around her as soon as she joined them on the crowded Muggle street. For a moment they all simply stood there looking each other up in down, each apparently waiting for the others to begin this mad adventure.

"Well, I reckon you ought to be in the front, Stretch." Hugo looked to Ron then and walked to the Calibra. "Not much leg room in the back."

"No, I'll just – I'll ride in back with her."

"Then what does that make me up here? Taxi driver? Come on then! Besides, I'm having none of that in my car." He waggled his eyebrows at Ron.

"No, we're not – we wouldn't - " Ron stammered at the uncomfortable insinuation.

"I seen the way you two been lookin' at each other! You'd do each other right there on that bench if you could." He laughed, apparently oblivious to Hermione's discomfort.

"Erm - okay," Ron relented and climbed into the front, eager for Hugo to stop talking.

He popped the driver's seat forward for Hermione, who ducked beneath his arm and crawled into the cramped back seat. Ron looked back to her and gave her a brave smile. This was, without a doubt, the most mental thing they'd ever done.

"Ready to do this?" Hugo whirled around to Hermione then looked to Ron with a wide grin.

"I reckon so." Ron wasn't quite sure how else to respond. Hermione just offered a timid tight-lipped smile that seemed to be all she could manage. It seemed to be enough assurance for Hugo because the car lurched forward very suddenly. They sped along for several seconds then came to an abrupt stop. Then lurched forward and came to another sudden stop. His driving reminded Ron a bit of the Knight Bus they'd taken up to Hogsmeade after Christmas holiday. He was grateful for the belt he'd strapped around his waist and he looked behind to Hermione who was gripping the seat beneath her and looking just as queasy.

"We'll be outta this traffic quick," he grumbled as he slammed on the brakes again and they all flew forward. "I hate driving in the city." Ron glanced nervously back to Hermione, wondering if it was too late to ask Hugo to let them out. "It's a good thing your hotel's this side of the river. We get past this next light we can get right on the Motorway. And once we get on the Motorway, it's 140 the rest of the way." Ron heard Hermione whimper at the statement. "We'll probably only go about six hours today since we got a late start. Not that I'm complaining, of course. I usually like to get at least ten to twelve. I like driving at night mostly. Roads are emptier and you can make good time," he continued to jabber on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Ron and Hermione were silent. "Course we don't have to go that far if you don't want to, but it's not bad. You just sleep late obviously, then get on the road in the afternoon. Drive 'til about midnight or one."

"We're driving 'til midnight?" Hermione shifted in the uncomfortable backseat. It suddenly became clear how little they'd thought this through. They didn't even know their travel plans or the route that they'd be traveling or even their companion's last name.

"Yeah, but you both can go to sleep if you like. Well, not now of course 'cause it's just past six. Unless you want to go to sleep at six and then you're welcome to, if you want. It seems like you've had a rough day. I'm real sorry 'bout your cat," Hugo rambled. Ron looked back to Hermione and tried to signal to her not to say anything. He could tell she understood it was a cover story, but she still glared at him, clearly unhappy with his selection of lies.

"So, er - how old are you, Hugo?" Ron recalled what Hermione had told him about not talking, but he was eager to learn a little bit more about the man whose hands, he now realised, they'd literally put their lives in. Hugo's little Holden Calibra weaved dangerously in and out of cars causing Ron to seize the seat beneath him.

"I'm twenty-two, what about you?" Hugo seemed again oblivious to the discomfort of his passengers.

"E- eighteen." Ron stammered, feeling his dinner coming up as the car continued to swerve around traffic.

"When's your birthday?"

"Er - March." Ron thought it was a rather odd question.

"Hey, me too!" He sounded entirely too excited to share a birthday with Ron. "When?"

"Uh, the first."

"Tenth." Hugo seemed pleased to learn they shared something in common. "So we're both fish then."

"Huh?" Ron frowned.

"Pisces, the fish."

"Oh, right."

"That means we are both emotional, honest and quite romantic," he stated matter-of-factly. "Weaknesses are..." Hugo scrunched up his face then like he was trying to remember something for an exam, "that we're a bit on the moody side, can be lazy and we like to take pity on ourselves from time to time. How'm I doing?" He looked back to Hermione and grinned, taking his eyes off the road for longer than Ron would have cared. His knuckles were white. "He a lazy romantic bugger?" Hermione looked unsure how to respond. "What about you, Hermione? You got a nickname by the way? Something shorter than Hermione? That's a bloody long name to say. Bit weird too if you don't mind me saying."

"It's from Shakespeare," Ron informed indignantly despite the fact that he'd thought much the same thing the first time he'd met her. "It's a queen from Shakespeare."

"So I can't call you nothin' else? It's got to be Hermione? What about...just 'Mione. That's only three syllables and - "

"No." Her flat reply made Ron grin. He'd tried shortening her name their first year at Hogwarts after telling her much the same thing Hugo just had. He'd tried everything from 'Mione to Herm, but each suggestion had only made her more angry. She'd very angrily informed him that her parents named her Hermione and that's what he could call her. His argument that his parents had named him Ronald, but he let her shorten his name to Ron hadn't seemed to help and had only resulted in her calling him Ronald for nearly an entire month until he'd finally begged her to stop.

"Fair enough. So what about you? When's your birthday?" he inquired after Hermione.

"I'm a Virgo," she informed quietly.

"Ah, you're the virgin!" Hugo declared brightly. The word seemed to echo around the tiny car. Even though they were just talking about signs of the Zodiac, Ron could practically feel Hermione's face burn in the backseat. "So you are smart, practical and meticulous." Ron couldn't help his head from nodding at the description. "But you can be a bit critical. You're...what was it now..." He seemed to be combing through archives of Zodiac readings in his head. "You're a perfectionist! Tend to fuss quite a bit and worry."

"How are you doing all this?" Ron marveled at the very accurate description of Hermione. The young man in two minutes of talking about the Zodiac had been more accurate than Professor Trelawney ever had been. He could see Hermione looked displeased at the spot-on, but not entirely flattering, character analysis.

"That sound like your queen back there? Smart little perfectionist?"

"How the ruddy hell do you know all this?" Ron gaped.

"It's pretty good, innit?" Hugo grinned. "I used to work for a fortune teller. Picked some of it up. It's weirdly accurate."

"It's brilliant! Can you predict the future too?" Ron was eager to test his fortune-telling against Trelawney's.

"Nah, I didn't pick none of that up," he laughed at Ron's enthusiasm. "Just the Zodiac mainly and I know a bit about Tarot cards. I usually just do it to impress girls."

"Does it work?" Ron inquired and he heard Hermione scoff in the backseat.

"Definitely got a shag or two out of it, yeah," Hugo dismissed with a chuckle. The flippant comment indicating Hugo had been with more than a few girls made Ron see him different all of a sudden. Either Hugo seemed older or Ron suddenly felt much younger. Ron could see Hermione did not seem to approve of the cavalier way he talked about bedding women however.

"So - er how long did you work there?" he changed the topic of conversation. "At the fortune teller?"

"Just a season. After that I went to work on a croc farm actually."

"A crocodile farm?"

"Well, I just cleaned the toilets and took out the trash, but yeah, it was fun. They had a seventeen footer when I was there. Great big saltwater crocodile. They reckoned he was a maneater."

So the chit-chat carried on. Hugo had no interest in asking any further questions about them and was all too happy to answer Ron's many questions. He learned the longest Hugo had held a job was seven months. He'd cleared tables in a pirate-themed restaurant and stocked shelves in a shop that sounded like it sold the dirty Muggle magazines he'd used to steal from Fred and George. He'd been a candy puller and a movie projectionist at the cinema. He'd even been a participant in psychology experiments that had paid him by the hour. It seemed an awfully long list of jobs for somebody who was only twenty-two. Ron learned he was born outside of Sydney where Ron gathered he'd lived in several different homes until he was 14. Fortunately, Hugo didn't ask many questions about them and it wasn't long before Hermione was fast asleep and Ron was left alone in the front to make conversation with Hugo.

The lights that had surrounded Brisbane were long gone, but if driving in the dark in awkward silence bothered Hugo he didn't let on. Ron found he was oddly alert, even as he watched the clock in Hugo's car pass ten o'clock. He should be sleepy. He should be exhausted.

Ron glanced to the backseat for the umpteenth time to glance at Hermione. Her chin was resting on her chest and she'd let out a couple soft snorts and snores that assured him she was, in fact, sleeping. Hugo chuckled to himself as he eyed the way Ron gazed at her.

"You're pretty sweet on her, huh?" he remarked then.

"What? Oh - er - um - yeah, I guess."

"You been together long?"

"Sort of," Ron muttered after a long pause, unsure how to answer the question. "We've been friends for a long time, but - "

"But you just now started shagging?" Ron didn't say yes or no. "That explains it, then."

"Explains what?"

"The way you look at each other."

"How do we look at each other?"

"Like you want to tear each other's effing clothes off!" Hugo snorted with laughter. "Can't say I blame you. She's quite fit. Not too shabby a catch for a ranga."

"A ranga?"

"A bloke with red hair," Hugo snorted.

"Oh, piss off," Ron shot, but he couldn't help but grin. It was like talking to Harry or his brothers, which should be strange since he'd known Hugo all of six hours. "How much longer are you driving tonight?" Ron stifled a yawn.

"I wanted to get closer to Cobar today, but I don't think we'll get quite that far. We've got to stop at a petrol station soon as we can."

"Petrol?"

"Yeah, for the car."

"Right." Ron remarked nervously, having no idea what Hugo was talking about and suddenly wishing Hermione was awake.

"But I'll drive for another hour at least. Find somewhere to pull over for the night."

"Where will you sleep?"

"In the car." Hugo shrugged.

"In here?" Ron looked around the tight confines of the Calibra.

"Oh yeah, I do it all the time," Hugo dismissed. "It's more comfortable than it looks once this seat goes back." Ron found the statement hard to believe, but he didn't bother arguing. Hugo seemed somehow impervious to things that bothered other people. He'd been driving in darkness for nearly six hours and didn't seem to be getting tired at all.

"Ah, here we go!" Hugo sounded utterly relieved as he looked to bright lights on the horizon suddenly coming into view. "We're in luck, we are." Ron could see the words "Caltex" spelled out in neon orange letters.

"In luck?" Ron wasn't sure what was so exciting about the words or the plain square building. He again wished Hermione were awake.

"Yeah, we must be gettin' close to a town. This is open twenty-four hours." Ron looked to the tiny building Hugo was looking toward, apparently called a "Star Shop". "You need to go piss, or grab some food, drinks...condoms," he added the last word out of the corner of his mouth as he slowed the little car to a stop, "this is the place." Ron felt his cheeks burn at the comment and he hoped the darkness disguised it.

He looked behind to Hermione, still asleep in the back. In the chaos of the day, he'd nearly forgotten about what they had planned to do tonight until Hugo's comment. Their conversation last night felt like ages ago. Surely, after five hours sleeping in the car and her tear-filled afternoon, she'd be utterly exhausted. Still, he couldn't help himself from climbing out of the car and walking toward the shop.

It was presumptuous. He should just piss and go back to the car. She'd just want to sleep. He didn't know where the ruddy hell to even look for the Muggle items. His eyes scanned the shelves inside the store through the window as he drew nearer. All he saw was food. Shoving his hands deep in his pocket, he jingled the small bit of money he'd exchanged his mum's Galleons for six days ago. She'd told him to spend it on a nice dinner.

Pulling open the door, which had a noisy bell attached, Ron avoided looking at the man behind the counter and walked blindly down the aisles. They wouldn't be in the aisle of sweets. They wouldn't be in the aisle of crisps. They wouldn't be with the drinks. Ron did three laps around the tiny store, fairly certain the Muggle behind the counter was watching him with amusement.

"Help you with anything?"

"No, no. I'm - I'm fine." Ron snatched a container of Tim-Tams off the shelf so as not to look a fool. He grabbed one of the lemon fizzy drinks Hermione liked as well and made his way to the counter, embarrassed by his own inability to locate them. "Er - where are the um - the condoms?" he asked, standing straight and trying to sound as confident as he could. The balding cashier pointed routinely behind the counter.

"What kind you want?" he asked blandly.

"Kind - er - um...the regular?" Ron hoped he'd said the right thing and his voice didn't sound as squeaky as he thought it did. The cashier looked utterly amused as he placed a tiny box on the counter that looked like it could fit in Ron's hand.

"Anything else?"

Trying not to stare too curiously at the box, Ron dumped the other items he'd collected onto the counter. He wondered if people bought condoms and Tim-Tams in combination often. He paid quickly with his mum's money, feeling only slightly guilty, and quickly made to return to the car, noticing only too late Hermione was walking parallel to him from the shop.

"What're you doing?" he asked defensively, quickly moving the bag into his left hand and horrified now that she'd somehow been inside and seen him.

"I was in the loo." She pointed to the side of the building where he saw two exterior doors to the toilet.

"When'd you wake up?" He tried to hide the bag behind him. He could see the swelling around her eyes was down quite a bit. She looked almost normal again, almost like the crying had never happened.

"When Hugo was putting petrol in the car. His car's quite loud." She scratched her head, still looking a bit groggy. "What's in the bag then?"

"Tim-Tams," Ron replied immediately. "And that fizzy drink - the lemon one you like. I - I got it for you."

"Thank you," she smiled at the thoughtful action and Ron shoved the bag further behind his back, hoping she wouldn't see what else he'd bought for her. "Hugo said he'd probably only drive for another hour. I can't believe he's still awake. He's like a machine," she remarked in awe as they walked back to the Holden Calibra together.

"Yeah, he sure doesn't seem to mind the dark."

"It is kind of peaceful, though." She looked around the empty forecourt then threw her head back to look at the night sky. "God, look at the stars." The six hours of sleep seemed to have rested her well. "I've never seen a sky so clear," she sounded breathlessly, her mouth hanging open slightly in wonder as she looked up. "It puts that night in North Norfolk to shame. You remember that?"

Ron looked up at the thousands of stars that glimmered in the inky darkness and recalled the night she was referencing. It had been early in the Horcrux hunt, before they'd gotten too hopeless and the locket had affected any of them too much. Harry had stolen two cans of soup for dinner and they'd eaten them atop a hill below a beautiful blanket of stars. Glancing over at her, Ron smiled at the memory. Tonight certainly put it to shame. This was indeed the clearest night sky he'd ever seen.

"Come on, then, lovebirds, you'll have plenty of time to gaze at the stars!" Hugo barked from the car. Ron couldn't help but think Hugo seemed to like teasing him almost in the same way his brothers did.

Though all three were now awake, they traveled on in silence for the next hour. Despite the clear nighttime air, the road was not well lit and Hugo seemed to be concentrating particularly hard on seeing the road so Ron didn't distract him with conversation. He could think of little else but the purchase that he'd stuffed anxiously at his feet upon entering the car.

He glanced back to Hermione from time to time like he had all night, wondering what she was thinking about. She was staring through the small window in the backseat, still clearly enamored with the brilliant night sky. It was an oddly comfortable silence, considering the trio had known each other for only ten hours.

Ron wasn't quite sure why Hugo decided to stop when he did or where they even were. They bumped along for several minutes so he knew they were off the smooth paved road, but past that Ron couldn't make out much.

"This is it then. Do you need a torch or you want me to leave the headlights on?" he offered as Ron and Hermione unloaded their belongings.

"Erm - " Ron looked around the cluster of trees he could barely make out in the darkness. "We'll be okay."

"Be careful where your pitch the tent, eh?" Hugo warned. "Lots of creepy crawlies. Goannas'll get to your food if you leave it out, too."

"Goannas?"

"Lizards," Hugo explained. "I told you, there's all kinds of stuff out here. Seal that tent up tight." Ron felt immediately ill-at-ease and glared at Hugo, who cackled with laughter, wished them both good night, which seemed an odd thing to say as it was actually morning, and climbed back into his car.

Holding Hermione's hand, Ron picked his way nervously through the darkness, trying to find a clearing large enough for the tent. He cursed himself for telling Hugo he had a torch.

"Why didn't you tell him to leave the lights on?"

" 'Cause I forgot we couldn't do magic," he grumbled as they wandered slowly ahead.

"You know I'll have to make the tent normal too."

"Normal?"

"Like a Muggle tent."

"Why?" Ron frowned as he lead her blindly through the scrub.

"Because if Hugo comes in it and looks - "

"He's not gonna come and look!" Ron whined, disliking the thought of camping if it meant no potbelly stove or comfortable mattress.

"- we have to make it look normal." She ignored his complaints and, knowing she was right, he put up no further protest as they continued to walk further into the darkness. Finally, she seemed to think they'd traveled far enough from the car and found a level area where they could erect the tent.

"We're not going to be able to set this up in the dark without magic," he complained. He could barely see Hermione in front of them, nevertheless sort out the mass of canvas, poles and pegs on the ground.

"It looks easier than Perkins' tent." Hermione ignored him and knelt down in the grass and went to work sorting everything out.

"Are there any instructions?" he frowned.

"No, but I'm sure we can figure it out."

"Can we just cast a light, please?" Ron looked around warily. "You can make one of your bluebell flames. It'll just look like a blue light."

"This has got to be the ground cloth." She continued sorting out the tent items.

"Come on, Hermione, it's too dark!" he complained, but she obliged him, likely thinking the same thing as she tried to sort out the items in front of her.

Her faint blue light lit up the trunks of the trees, but somehow only made the place look more ominous. Ron thought they now looked a bit like the trees in the Forbidden Forest near Aragog's lair.

"Here, you can at least use your wand to hammer in these pegs." She emptied four large pegs into his hand that Ron hammered through the grommeted holes in the cloth in the light of the bluebell flame.

It was a long and arduous process and, despite Hermione's initial confidence and familiarity with Muggle items, he'd been the one who figured out where all the pegs and poles and knots went. He was a bit wary the whole thing would collapse on them in the middle of the night despite the strong knots he'd tied and how deep he'd driven the pegs into the ground, but Hermione seemed quite pleased at their handiwork. It was a simple canvas tent, slightly larger from the outside than the one they'd camped in all year. Without magic, it still looked like it would fit the two of them and not much more. He doubted he'd even be able to stand up all the way.

She laughed at his eagerness to get inside and the way he constantly jerked his head over his shoulder and looked overhead to check the trees for spiders.

"Let's get inside."

"Wait, I have to make it normal." She grabbed him by the elbow then as he hurried toward the canvas tent.

Ron grumbled, but kept a watch out for Hugo who he knew was probably already asleep while Hermione cast the incantation that would remove the extra rooms and the furniture and the stove and the carpet and mattresses. He steeled himself when she told him it was okay to enter. He was used to walking into a tent and then immediately straightening up. But he had to remain crouched over as he walked inside.

"Fucking hell, we can't both fit in this," he grumbled.

"I didn't expect you to complain about having to be close," she grinned.

"Fair enough. Where are the sleeping bags?"

"I shrunk them back at the Burrow. I think they're still in your rucksack."

Ron rummaged through items and pulled out two very familiar, albeit miniature, sleeping bags. He cast an Engorgio charm and rolled them out in front of them. The tent was so small that the two sleeping bags were about all that could fit. A wave of disappointment washed over him as he looked at the sleeping bags and realised that, after a week of sleeping together, bodies flush and touching each other, they would be apart tonight.

"Do you want to er..." He looked down at the two bags, unable to hide his disappointment that they'd be climbing into their own separate bags like they had all year.

"What?"

"Do you want to like...put them together?" he proposed.

"What?"

"Like, unzip them or – or whatever so we could...we could..."

"So we can sleep together?" Ron saw a smile curve onto her face in the dim blue light.

"Well...yeah." Ron shrugged sheepishly, unsure what she meant by the term he'd so awkwardly used their first night at the hotel.

Hermione didn't say anything in reply, but Ron saw her begin to unzip the bags and spread them out on the floor of the tent. Glancing down at his watch, he realised the sun would be up in a few short hours. Oddly enough, despite being up for nearly twenty-four hours, he wasn't tired at all.

"It's not quite the Executive Suite." He looked down at the makeshift bed. She'd put the jar with the bluebell flame up where their heads would be.

"It's a bed," she shrugged, lying back on the sleeping bag. Unsure whether she was trying to insinuate what a bed had meant for them the past two weeks, Ron lay down beside her nonetheless. A bed at the Burrow meant innocent kissing and cuddling. A bed this past week had meant much more. Their eyes looked up at the roof of the tent where the two sides met at an angle. Despite the fact that they'd spent most of the year camping out in forests just like this, this felt so much more intimate. He thought about the spiders and lizards Hugo had mentioned, probably lurking just outside the tent. They were protected in here, he knew, and insulated, but still they seemed vulnerable.

"Are we completely barking for doing this?" Ron wrapped his hands behind his head.

"Doing what?" Hermione inched closer to him.

"This trip. Driving across the continent with a Muggle."

"Yes." She inched closer still.

"You reckon we'll be warm enough in here?" He hadn't meant it as a leading question, but she looked over to him and raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, I think we'll be just fine." She leaned over and kissed him then.

Even though it wasn't the same as the one they'd traveled in all year, there was something nostalgic about kissing her inside a tent now and recalling the memory of this morning and last night. He couldn't help but grin against her mouth, recalling similar nights where he'd lain atop this very sleeping bag, listening to the wind blow through the trees outside or the sleet pounding the tent and wondering what it would feel like to kiss Hermione.

"What?" Hermione asked, detecting the curl of his lips against hers that moment.

"Just thinking - " Ron murmured softly against her, each phrase punctuated by a kiss, "-about how many times – I wanted to do this – in the tent – this year."

"Me too," she replied breathlessly, her voice no more than a whisper like the birds and the spiders above the tent might hear. Though no longer a surprise, the revelation still filled Ron with a strange sort of feeling, and the truth of it, coming right from her lips mid kiss, made him want her all the more.

"So why didn't we?" he laughed at the absurdity surrounding the notion that she'd wanted him all year just as much as he had.

"I don't know," she laughed, too.

"I suppose Harry wouldn't have stood for it if we'd done this in the tent." Ron propped himself up over her with a grin.

"No, he wouldn't have," she agreed, her hand still resting on his cheek in an almost reverent way.

"And I'd wager - " He leaned down to drop a kiss on her neck and slip his hand under her shirt, "-that we wouldn't have gotten much done."

"No, probably not." She rolled her head back and moved her hands behind his head, running them through his hair, pressing against his scalp. Several minutes passed before she spoke again. This time she sounded less playful.

"About today." She pressed a hand to his chest as she spoke. "You know, at my parents'..."

"You don't have to explain -" he tried to protest, fearing another shower of tears.

"It was just...everything - "

"You don't have to say anything," Ron assured again, hardly thinking this was the time to discuss this.

"I want to." Her shaky delivery of the words betrayed her and he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer.

"Tell me tomorrow."

"But I want to tell you today," she maintained again and her voice got very serious. The words hinted at their conversation days ago on the hotel bed after he'd discovered her parents' address. She hadn't confronted the truth he'd suggested then and, though he was disappointed the light and playful mood was gone, he knew she was about to now. He could tell by the way she moved away from him and took in a deep breath.

"Okay." Ron licked his lips and waited.

"I...am so afraid that my parents will never forgive me." Her voice was small and so hesitant that Ron knew better, for once in his life, not to interject or to try for more playful kisses. "So afraid that I almost didn't want to find them," she admitted what Ron had already figured out. "But then today...when I thought - when they were gone," she gulped and then didn't finish her sentence. "I don't want to be alone," she confessed instead. "I don't want it to be my fault."

"You're not alone," he replied lamely, well aware he'd only addressed half of her fears.

Fear was a funny thing. All year it had stared them all right in the face. For him, the fear of dying had never been as prevalent as that of losing those he loved. He'd lie awake at night, amazed by the idea that everything in his life could change at any moment. Anybody could die. Anybody could be lost. It had haunted his thoughts all year, even when he was asleep. Then when he'd lost his brother seventeen days ago it suddenly became reality. He wasn't sure what that meant, but his dreams were muddled now. It was no longer just Fred falling off his broom or Hermione screaming in the distance. Now the dream kept going on. Now he had to figure out how to move on and face his new reality.

But the fear was still with Hermione, he realised. The war for her hadn't ended when Voldemort's body had crumpled into a heap. Her parents were still out there. Their fate was still uncertain.

"We're gonna find them," he assured. Then he repeated the promise he'd made in the letter he'd written that evening. "I won't leave here without them." She cocked her head then and he couldn't tell if it was love or gratitude or surprise or perhaps all three emotions at once that he saw behind her eyes. She looked moved by his words, that much he could tell, and so she did what they did now when words became too little. She kissed him.

It wasn't a playful kiss like earlier. There was nothing teasing or innocent about it. This was a different kind of kiss. It made him think about every other kiss, every touch, every moment they'd shared so far. He tried to pinpoint when it was exactly he fell so hard for her. When did her infuriating cleverness become endearing and not annoying? When did her hair become a beautiful mess that he craved to run his hand through? When did her happiness become more important than his?

He recalled the first time they kissed. Everything had been so uncertain then, but suddenly amid all that chaos, things became crystal clear. And somehow it made everything else about his future make sense, even if at moment his future might only have been a few hours. Somehow kissing her now, he felt all that again. Everything was still hazy and unsure, but they weren't. They were a certainty.

He could feel that in the kiss. There was an energy and a desire in the way her lips and tongue worked against him that he'd never felt before.

The ground was hard and lumpy beneath them, but she didn't object when he rolled over and crashed his weight on top of her. He wasn't even making an attempt to be gentle or cautious like anything back at the hotel. He pushed into her through the layers of clothing in an obvious way as her hands raked his back. She craved the contact, too; he could feel it in the way she moved beneath him and in the way her breathing was beginning to quicken.

This was totally different from enjoying a snog or just wanting to see him without his shirt. This was about a kind of pleasure she hadn't been ready to let herself feel before, not like this. There was no stammering or stopping to talk about things. No planning or preparations. When her hands reached for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, he knew it wasn't about simply wanting to playfully feel the smoothness of his chest. This was simply about removing the layers between them. And when he reached for hers, he knew there would be no nervous gasps or fumbling fingers. His hands were trembling, but it was for a different reason.

This was happening.

It wasn't the perfect night she'd planned down to the hour, but whether it was the darkness provided by the tent or the breakdown at Highgate Hill, her inhibitions seemed to be gone. She worked her bra off her shoulders quicker than he ever could have, letting her breasts free. Ron paused to admire them in the dim blue light of the bluebell flame. He wanted to speak, to tell her how beautiful she was, but this wasn't about talking. It was about feeling as much of her as he could. Because they were a fucking certainty and he'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted her right then.

Sliding his hand down, fingers pressing into her hips, he followed the heat of her body until he was between her legs. His thumb rested in the crease where her thigh met her pelvis while his four fingers cupped the wonderful warmth between her legs. There was a familiarity to both the way he touched her and the way her body reacted. She squeezed her legs together, trapping his hand against her, like she had that first night in the hotel, and for minutes that felt like hours, they both lay there, kissing and stroking and feeling each other with his hand between her legs, both enthralled by what each did to the other.

"Can you take your trousers off?" Her voice wasn't teasing or flirty, but straightforward and her eyes looked up plainly to him. The nervousness from the last week, even last night, the stuttering when it came to anything related to sex was gone.

"Yeah?" He didn't mean his words to come out like a question, but he knew it had. He needed one final assurance, one guarantee from her that this wasn't a dream. Her only response, however, was to edge away from him and sit up suddenly. He frowned, both at the lack of an answer and the abrupt action. Then he realised she was answering him. She was unlacing her shoes and pulling off her socks. The soft light of the bluebell flame lit up her body and he couldn't help but stare at the way her breasts swung freely as she did.

Following suit, he began unlacing his trainers and they took off their shoes together in silent, methodical routine, like this was something they did all the time.

"I love you." He had no idea why he blurted out the words while pulling off his left shoe. He felt like there was no more blood reaching his brain. His thoughts were cloudy and fuzzy and all his brain could focus on was what was about to happen.

"I love you," she uttered, glancing to him from her side of the tent where she'd neatly placed her shoes. Forgetting about her request to take off his trousers, they instead came together in a hurry and tumbled back to the bed of sleeping bags, kissing torridly.

"It's cold," he remarked, noting the tiny bumps on both their arms.

"I'm not cold," she informed. Then they were kissing again and his hand moved quickly and clumsily again to where she was the warmest, this time daring to slide beneath her trousers. Things were slower now, not quite as impatient, but there was still that same hungry desire and that wonderful certainty in the way she arched her back against him and her teeth grazed his lips when she pulled away. Then she did something she'd never done before, not in the last week of exploring each other. She reached for him.

"Fuck."

It was about the most ineloquent thing he could have muttered and he saw her try to suppress a grin. When she reached for the button of his trousers next, words failed him and all he could do was swear again.

Ron tried to steady his breathing as he felt her rub him through his shorts, then boldly work over the button fly that confined him. He took in a panicky breath as her fingers dipped beneath the fabric. Now his lungs failed him. She touched him tentatively at first, fingers grazing and just lightly brushing across his foreskin. Her hand moved cautiously against his length, in a soft and delicate manner, completely different from the frantic way they'd been moving against each other moments ago. When he finally remembered to take a breath, it was a loud gasp that sounded like he'd just come up for air after being submerged underwater.

She didn't say anything, but he could see her eyes look to him in question. They were wide, curious and excited, but clearly unsure about what she was doing.

"You can do it...harder than that," he managed to gasp and the encouraging words seemed to remind her of the very desperate way they'd been touching each other moments ago. Her fingers tightened around him then and when her hand started to move he worried for a moment that things would finish right now before they even had a chance to start.

She looked alarmed when he withdrew abruptly, but her fears were assuaged when she saw he was just hurriedly pulling off his trousers. A sudden urgency returned to the tent and Ron hoped the hurried manner with which she tugged at her own jeans indicated that she understood just what his withdrawal meant. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed her touch at all. He just wanted to be inside of her.

This was happening.

He took hold of the bottom of her trouser leg and pulled, eager as she was to shed another layer. Now they were both just down to their pants, their bare legs and torsos tangling together in the light of the bluebell flame. There was so much of her to touch now he couldn't even think clearly. Fuck if he didn't know what came next. Fortunately, Hermione seemed to have a very clear idea of how things should progress.

"Now take your pants off," she ordered in a breathless, but surprisingly calm manner. Ron nodded his head obediently, but halted before sliding them past his hips. "What?" Hermione laughed at the sudden hesitation that betrayed the eagerness with which he'd just removed both their trousers.

"It's just, you know - " He licked his lips. "You know that I'm ginger everywhere, right?"

"Yes." Her hands ran over him possessively, even toying with the waistband of his shorts.

"So the condoms," he blurted out suddenly, unsure why nerves were taking ahold of him now when she seemed so impatient. "I - I bought them at the petrol station. Should I put them on - do we - do you think we do the charms now? You know, before I um - "

"Well, I did mine already," Hermione replied simply before he could finish his stammering inquiry.

"When? Where?"

"At the petrol station," she admitted shyly. They both smiled then and it spoke volumes that as urgent as they'd both been moments ago, they could stop and smile at the coincidence that seemed to so perfectly sum up the years between them. They'd been out of sync for so long - they'd been too immature, too unaware, too jealous - but at the Caltex station outside Narrabri they both knew what they wanted from the night.

"So where are they? The condoms?" She craned her head, looking around the tiny tent.

"In my rucksack." Ron reached blindly behind him and tugged open the buckle on the canvas bag. Rummaging roughly through it, his stomach dropped with a sudden lurch. "Fuck, I think I left them in the car." He swore very loudly several times, recalling exactly where he'd left them on the floor of the passenger side.

"Oh." Her disappointment was obvious.

"I can get them!" The thought of racing out in the dark in no more than his pants was hardly pleasant, but he doubted Hugo would care. He'd probably just give him a sly smile and a shake of the head, knowing exactly what was in the bag. Ron made to stand, but she tugged him urgently back down to the mattress.

"It's fine," she assured breathlessly, her hands running over him.

"No, it's - you said - you promised your mum - I can go get them." Ron tried to remain chivalrous.

"Just stay here. It's - it's fine." She pulled him back down to her, sounding suddenly desperate. Ron couldn't help but wonder whether she'd change her mind if he left the tent, even for a moment. "I - I made a promise to my mum I'd be safe and...I'll be safe," she dismissed, sounding very much like she was trying to convince herself. "Just do your charm. It's the same thing anyway."

"Right." Ron reached for his wand in the pile of clothes in the corner. "Right," he repeated again, frustration growing as he couldn't find the 14" stick of willow he swore he'd placed by his rucksack. "Fuck! Where the fuck is my fucking wand?" he exploded and Hermione made no attempt to scold him for his language.

"I can do it," she offered, grabbing his hand then, seemingly eager for no further delays.

"No, I - I can find it," he maintained, but when he finally extracted his wand from beneath the pile of clothes, he found his hand was trembling and he couldn't recall the incantation his brother had taught him. Of all the times to be lousy at spellwork. Seminis- something or other and what the fuck kind of wrist movement was it?

"Do you want me to do it?" Hermione offered again.

"Um...yeah, I guess." Ron reckoned this wasn't the time to mess up and he tried not to feel embarrassed as she took her wand out and aimed it at the bulge between his legs. Ron suddenly felt like he was back in Charms class and he was the only one unable to levitate a feather

"Okay." Her bare legs rubbed against him then and she looked to him in anticipation, waiting for him to remove his shorts. He shouldn't be nervous. He should remember his brother's words and remember it was just sex. But this was Hermione and he wasn't perfect. There was his shockingly bright red pubic hair and the size of his bollocks and the way he hooked to the left slightly. He tried to remind himself that she had nothing to compare him to, but he couldn't help but be nervous as he tugged his shorts down to his knees and pulled them down his long legs.

She was trying not to look at it directly, he could tell, and was trying to keep her gaze fixed on him, but was failing miserably. He figured laughter would be the last thing that ought to happen, but when she looked at him, now lying completely starkers beside her, and gave him a nervous smile, he couldn't help but laugh softly. He was about to have sex. He and Hermione Granger, the girl who had driven him mad for so many years, the girl he had hardly been able to stand when they'd first met. And it was as if things had slowed down enough in that brief moment for them both to realise how far they'd come because she laughed softly too.

There was something comforting in hearing the nervous laughter he'd heard so many times before. He heard it and could recall moments in the Gryffindor common room where their hands would touch or they'd find themselves packed together cleaning a broom cupboard in Grimmauld Place. This awkward hiccup of laughter and the shy smile that accompanied it made all those moments rush back to him, those moments he'd doubted her feelings and his own. They crashed back into the bed of sleeping bags then with wet sloppy kisses, all open mouths and lips barely meeting. "I love you," she declared breathlessly, pressing her hand against his cheek.

"I love you," he replied. Merlin, it felt so good and so fucking easy to say.

She began to wriggle against him and Ron tried to fight the Wrackspurts as he knew what she was doing. She was taking off her knickers. He saw a flash of white as she tossed them aside. She was completely starkers now. They both were.

This was happening.

"Take it slow, okay?" She lay back on the bed of sleeping bags and moved a hand to his chest as he clumsily maneuvered his way atop her. This was happening.

He took one glorious look at her, lying back and waiting for him, completely naked save for the bandage still around her arm and suddenly that's where his hand was. Their eyes met briefly and he didn't have to say anything. She moved her right hand to the butterfly clip that kept it snug and together they cautiously unrolled the course green cloth. He couldn't see the ugly letters beneath, but she still flinched slightly when his hand wrapped around the place on her arm where he knew they were. And for the briefest of moments he forgot where they were and what they were doing. He was back in the cellar and she was screaming.

It wasn't until she shifted beneath him and he could feel her against him that he let the memory pass. That was the past. He braced his hands on either side of her and nudged between her legs. This was real. He could feel her. Flesh against flesh. They were doing this. This was happening. All the things they'd talked about after dinner yesterday came rushing back to him then.

"What about? I mean...er – can I -" he stumbled like an idiot before finally collecting himself and saying what he hadn't been able to last night. "Can I cum inside you? Is that...okay?" She bit her lip, likely at the frankness of what he'd just uttered and the reality of what was about to happen. She didn't speak, just nodded her head. "Are you scared?" he asked then, his voice trembling slightly. There was no reply from beneath him, but he saw her take in a deep and steadying breath. Ron found her hands, up about her head and he laced his fingers in hers.

"Me, too."

The first apology came forth early, dripping with embarrassment at his inability to even get inside her at first. He poked and nudged awkwardly for what felt like forever before she finally broke her hands apart from his to help guide him. She muttered a breathless assurance that it was fine and tried to smile, but he heard her gasp and the smile quickly fell away.

She was warm, warmer than he'd ever in his wildest dreams imagined, like a warm wet hand wrapping around him. Except this wasn't a hand. It was Hermione. He was inside Hermione. That thought was about all he could process. For a moment, they were both still, eyes locked on each other, chests heaving as they both sucked in nervous breaths, just reveling in the new feeling. For a moment it was perfect.

But when he began moving his hips, there was no missing the gasp. When he looked down to her, he saw her eyes squeezed shut in obvious pain. The second apology came forth then, this time ridden with guilt. She assured him it was okay, holding his face in her hands, but her eyes were still closed and her discomfort was obvious. The instinctual urge to crash into her was overwhelming, but this wasn't like before, when she'd been moving against him in encouragement. There was no reciprocation here. Fuck if George and Charlie hadn't told him this.

Hermione tried to draw him closer, bringing his face closer to hers. She looked almost apologetic, as if trying to assure him she did in fact want him, that she wanted him with every fibre of her being. The adoring look was punctuated with hisses and winces however each time he tried to push further into her. He wondered for a moment if he should stop, but doubted if he could at this point. And so the third apology was a combination of shame and guilt at his obvious pleasure while she was in such obvious pain.

"Stop apologising!" she finally ordered breathlessly and she snaked a hand around his head as she did, urging him closer.

"Sorry," he huffed.

"Ron!"

"Right."

She tried to kiss him then and he tried to meet her lips, but he felt like he couldn't do both things at once. He was moving inside her now with shallow clumsy thrusts. The sleeping bags scrunched up and moved beneath them and he knew this couldn't be comfortable with roots and pebbles lying beneath them. He wished they'd remembered to put down a cushioning charm.

"Don't stop," she gasped in encouragement, pulling his face down to her, likely sensing his hesitation. He was surprised when she spread her legs then. She grimaced as she did, but tried to smile and again she encouraged him not to stop.

She felt different now, with her legs apart, more welcoming somehow despite the obvious resistance from her body. She kept trying to kiss him, and again he felt like an arse because he could hardly manage more than a clumsy kiss that covered her chin and her cheek more than her mouth. She was now making noises he'd never heard before, whether pleasure or pain, he knew better than to ask.

This position, the way her legs were parted for him now, wide open, the way her fingers raked his back while her heel dug into his calf. This was it. He was having sex. He was having sex with Hermione. There was little else he could think about except that fact. They didn't say anything. He'd finally stopped apologising. Now it was all gasps and grunts and the sound of their skin slapping together.

He could feel the sensation of her enveloping warmth and wetness and she gripped him in a way that he could feel in a very real way that he was inside of her. And he could see recognition in her face, too- what this meant, here in this tiny tent on the edge of the Australian outback. He was a part of her right now. A part of her in a way that, despite the obvious discomfort, he knew she loved. It's why she'd told him to keep going and why she ordered him to stop apologising. She wanted this.

"Look at us!" she cried then, looking down the length of her body as she gripped his sweaty torso between her hands.

"Yeah," Ron grunted, bracing himself up on both hands and looking beneath him to where they were joined too.

He knew he wouldn't last much longer. The guilt and the shame and embarrassment bubbled back up as he realised he was going to finish so quickly just as she seemed to be enjoying it. He didn't know how much time had even passed, but if there was one thing he did know and understand about sex, it was this.

He didn't announce it. He didn't tell her what was happening. He felt the pressure that had been building since she reached inside his shorts finally release then his strength slowly gave out and he collapsed on top of her.

It was over.

His racing heart began to slow down. Oxygen began returning to his brain. Now he could kiss her. Now he could focus again. Ron pressed his lips to her neck lazily, it was about all he could manage without raising his head. They'd just had sex.

He pulled out slowly and he felt her shift beneath him awkwardly, squeezing her thighs together.

"I have to pee." They were hardly the first words he'd imagined he'd hear from her.

"You have to...right now?" Ron stammered.

"Yes." She sounded so matter-of-fact, Ron didn't even argue.

"Okay, well, me too, I guess." He didn't like the idea of her wandering around the woods starkers and he had a sudden urge to urinate as well so he climbed to his feet, not even the slightest bit hesitant now about his naked skinny frame. She'd gripped his arse and felt him slide inside her. The days of being nervous were gone. He reached down to take her hands and lift her to her feet, crashing her naked body against his. She wasn't as sweaty as he was, nor as flushed, but he could feel something warm against her leg. Looking down, he saw the evidence of what he'd just done now streaming down her inner thigh. She looked suddenly pale as she hurried out of the tent, covering herself with her hands.

"Hermione," he called her name and chased her outside, but she yelled at him, her voice shrill like it had been yesterday in the hotel when he'd nearly walked in on her on the toilet. Cupping his bits, he trotted out to find a tree far enough away from her. The clear sky had clouded over somewhat, but he could still see the stars and he looked for familiar constellations while he waited to hear the canvas tent flap open that indicated she was finished. He could see the curves of her hips and dimples of her arse lit up in the moonlight as she retreated to the tent and it made him want him want to take her then and do it all over again. Disappointment filled him when he returned and saw she'd already pulled a shirt on, though it lifted his spirits slightly to see it was at least one of his t-shirts.

"What'd you do that for?" He frowned, having been quite eager for them to remain naked as long as possible.

"It's cold," she informed plainly, rummaging around for more clothes.

"Well, come here so I can warm you up," he laughed, stooping past her to the bed of sleeping bags to which he tried to restore to some kind of order. They were all bunched up and Ron could make out the sweaty spot where Hermione's arse had been. Seizing his wand, he hesitated slightly as he detected something that he thought might be blood, before casting a quick Tergeo charm.

At the sound of the incantation, Hermione turned from her kneeled position over the beaded bag, looking well aware of what Ron had just done. He couldn't help but think she looked uncomfortable somehow.

"Come here," he beckoned, bothered by the strange look and the fact that she seemed embarrassed that he'd had to clean anything up. She pulled on a clean pair of knickers and, in a rather halting fashion, joined him in slipping underneath their makeshift covers.

"I was just getting - " she began to explain, but he wrapped her up in a tight embrace before she could.

"I love you," he muttered for the fifth time that night.

"I love you," she murmured back in their now comfortable rhythm.

"Are you okay?" He couldn't help his hand from reaching between her legs then, cupping that pure wonderful part of her only he'd gotten to experience.

"I'm fine." She didn't withdraw from his touch, but she didn't exactly respond to it either.

"You sure?" Ron couldn't help but feel like he'd done something wrong. "I - I told you I'd be rubbish," he managed a self-deprecating laugh then. "I told you I'd be - "

"You weren't rubbish," she assured too quickly for his liking. "You were..I mean...it – it was -" The nervous stammering was suddenly back.

"It was amazing." Ron kissed her shoulder then. "You felt amazing."

"Really?" she squeaked and for the first time she sounded like herself.

"Yeah." Ron laughed. "More than amazing. It was unreal." His hands travelled up the oversized shirt and began caressing her breasts. "In fact..." He continued to kiss all over her neck. "I think...we ought...to try again in a bit."

"I think we ought to sleep." Hermione pulled the covers up around her, ignoring his wandering mouth and hands.

"Was I that bad?" he frowned.

"No, I just...I think we ought to sleep."

"We just had sex!" he cried.

"And I'm tired."

"You slept the whole car ride," Ron laughed, unsure why he was getting so upset.

"You could have slept, too!"

"I was talking to Hugo the whole time!"

"Good for you!"

"You know, trying to learn a bit more about the bloke we're going to be stuck with for the next four days."

"Well, congratulations!" Hermione huffed and now they were so far from where the conversation had started he wasn't even sure what he was arguing about or what point he was trying to make. "I was tired so I slept."

"Well, now I'm tired so I'm going to sleep," Ron huffed.

"Fine! That's what I said in the first place," Hermione laughed absurdly.

"Fine."

They turned away from each other, both jerking at the sleeping bag and fighting to keep more of it. He regretted picking the stupid fight almost as soon as he turned over. He didn't care that she'd slept in the car or even that she wanted to go to sleep now. It wasn't about doing it again either or getting to touch her or even needing the reassurance that he'd been good. It was about knowing she was happy they'd done what they had. Yet here he went picking a fight about something stupid.

Minutes passed in awkward and uncomfortable silence. They hadn't fallen asleep apart since arriving in Australia. Ron stared at the side of the canvas tent and the messy pile of clothes he'd discarded. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go.

He felt the covers shift and then Hermione was suddenly pressed to his bare back. Her arms weren't stretched around him, but he could feel her cheek and hand resting against his skin.

It felt almost like an apology.


	39. Chapter 39

A cushioning charm wouldn't have fixed the morning, but it certainly might have made for a more comfortable night's sleep. Every time he awoke and shifted positions on the cold lumpy ground, he found himself resting against a new root or rock that they had failed to clear way last night in their hurry to erect the tent. He could feel her shift and move against him all morning, either attempting to sleep or, like him, desperate to appear like she was. Part of him didn't believe she'd ever actually fallen asleep because, for the first time all week, he hadn't felt her tremble against him at any point during the night. The notion that they'd both been feigning sleep all night made him uncomfortable somehow.

When he finally opened his eyes to face the day and rolled over, he was pleased to at least see her resting on her side and facing him. Still, he didn't know what to say to her. Not after what they'd shared last night and especially not after the way they'd gone to sleep.

"Morning," he offered uncomfortably.

"Morning," she replied. "Hugo's not up yet. I checked."

"Oh." He wondered how long she'd been awake.

"I expect he won't be up for a while."

"Oh."

"Do you want breakfast?" Ron wondered if they would even make mention of what they'd done last night. He found himself wondering if it had all been a dream. She was acting like it had never happened.

"Do we even have anything for breakfast?"

Now he was pretending like it hadn't happened either. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to touch her all the places he had in the light of the bluebell flame, but everything seemed different now with sunlight streaming through the tent. He could see as she rose up from the bed of sleeping bags that she had pulled on much more than his Chudley shirt during the night.

"We still have beans." She reached for the beaded bag. "I can make some."

"Okay."

Ron stayed beneath the cover of the sleeping bag as he was still starkers beneath it. Part of him wondered what she'd do if he were just to stand up right now and get dressed. Last night, he had assumed the days when she would blush and turn away were gone, but this morning he wasn't so sure. He sat upright, bare-chested, but keeping himself covered from the waist down.

"Hermione."

"We might even have a tin of kipper."

"Hermione."

"In fact, I think we do." She rummaged loudly through the bag in obvious avoidance.

"About last night." Hermione froze at his words, clearly surprised that he'd gone and spoken outright about what they'd done. "I'm sorry it wasn't, you know, longer," he mumbled then in embarrassment. "I'm sorry it was - "

"It was fine," she cut him off then, her back still turned and her body still frozen.

"Fine," Ron repeated the words that were hardly an assurance. "It was fine?"

"Good, I mean. It was good," she corrected hurriedly, likely hearing the hurt in his voice. She turned around then slowly and looked at him.

"You don't have to lie." He fidgeted with the sleeping bag, tucking it tighter around his waist.

"I'm not lying."

"You had your eyes closed the whole time." Ron recalled the way she'd had them clinched tightly through most of it.

"So did you," she shot back.

The words took Ron back to his bedroom at the Burrow after he'd just kissed her properly for the first time since the battle. It's not proper to keep your eyes open when you kiss someone. His mind spun at how much had changed since that moment.

She was right, of course, about last night. He reckoned his eyes had been closed most of the time too, but every time he'd opened them he'd seen hers were shut as well. She'd looked at him though. She'd opened her eyes for confirmation that it was really him and they were really doing it. They really had done it.

Seeming to be thinking the same thing, she hurriedly began pulling out forks and plates and a pot to cook the beans in. He hated that thinking about it made her flustered.

"Hermione."

"It was just a lot," she finally sputtered without looking at him.

"What does that mean?" he pressed, annoyed at the vague and ambiguous term about something so important.

"I don't know," she admitted the words she so rarely said. "It was just...I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"It was just - it was...messier than I thought and - and - " The stammering words hardly soothed Ron.

"Do you wish we hadn't done it?" He finally asked what he'd feared since last night and he scrambled to his feet then. The bag slipped at first, momentarily revealing a trail of ginger hair, and he saw Hermione turn away instinctively when it did. "Are you – do you regret it?" He pressed, adjusting the bag and stooping across the tent to talk to her. It was awkward since he could not stand up straight and was hunched over. "Is that what this is? Last night and having to pee - "

"No, I did have to, you're supposed to after," she lectured over him.

"Really?"

"Yes. Well, girls are."

"Why?"

"Do you really think I regret it?" Hermione ignored his query and stepped closer to him.

"I know it wasn't...you know, good," he replied glumly, recalling her pained expression nearly the entire time.

"It was...different," she confessed with an honest shrug.

"It hurt," he stated knowingly.

"A little."

"Don't lie."

"It did, but I knew it was going to," she confessed and gave a simple shrug then. "It was you and me." Ron said nothing and let the words echo about the tent. His back was starting to hurt from hunching over and he was starting to feel foolish standing there wrapped in a sleeping bag. Not to mention he was starting to feel the chill now that he was no longer beneath the warmth of the bags.

"I love you." He felt like the words needed to be said and he wanted to touch her or kiss her, but he wasn't quite sure how to move in as one hand was still gripping the sleeping bag around his waist and he knew she'd turn away if he let it drop.

"I love you, too," she replied and then went about preparing the beans. "Let's have breakfast."

"Okay," Ron remarked, hardly assured by her automatic reply or feeling any more positive about last night's encounter.

Her cheeks still pinkened when she changed clothes in front of him and she seemed bothered that he made no effort to avert his eyes when she did.

They had sex last night.

He couldn't say it enough in his head. Even in the soft blue light last night, he'd seen and felt so much more of her than just a flash of her breast while she put on her bra. Still, she turned away to roll up the sleeping bags when he finally stood up to pull on a new pair of pants.

Ron wanted to laugh again.

They had sex and still she was averting her eyes.

It was an uncomfortable morning. He tried to bring back the intimacy they shared with soft gentle reminders of the way they'd touched each other. He wondered how he would go about initiating a second time. It was daylight now and the harsh sunlight made the tent seem somehow smaller and much less intimate. Even the way her mouth moved against his when he tried to kiss her felt much more like the relatively chaste kisses they'd shared back at the Burrow and less like the frenzied driving way they'd embraced last night. He wondered if she would even want to do it again.

It was different.

They were hardly the assuring words he'd wanted to hear from her. Different could mean so many things and, despite her assurance that it had been good, he couldn't shake the feeling that she'd been and still was completely underwhelmed by the whole experience. And he wanted to ask her about it, ask her how she felt and how he could make it better. She'd felt amazing and it saddened him to think the ecstasy he'd felt hadn't been echoed in her.

Everything about her behaviour seemed reluctant and measured. Despite her assurance to the contrary, every move she made screamed of regret. From how quickly she'd put her clothes back on to the hurried way she wrapped the bandage back around her arm. He recalled her confession in the tent last night about her parents and her fears about being alone. There was so much they needed to talk about, but he sensed today they wouldn't be doing much talking at all. He was grateful when Hugo's voice sounded from outside the tent to signal the start of a new day of traveling.

They took down the tent together and Ron tried to ignore the curious looks Hugo kept giving him. They assumed the same arrangement in the car, with Ron once again in front and seated next to Hugo and Hermione in the back. He didn't dare ask how far they were going to drive today. Ron cringed at the thought of even seven more hours in the car. He wanted to be in the back with Hermione. He wanted to keep trying to recall what they'd shared last night. But she was looking out the back window with a far-away, glassy-eyed stare.

"You sleep all right?" Hugo asked.

"M'fine."

"You two all right?" He turned around to glance at Hermione.

"We're...fine." Ron wasn't sure why he was stammering over the word. Fine wasn't good. Fine meant they were okay.

"So we're off to the Outback today! Your job is to watch out for roos!"

"Roos?"

"Kangaroos, yeah, there'll be a few on this stretch of road."

"Okay." Ron was grateful for the distraction. All he could think about was the way she'd spread her legs and dug her heels into his calves.

It was literally all his mind could play over and over. He tried to remember exactly how it had happened and whose pants had come off first. He rehashed in his head every detail of how she'd touched him. She had initiated it. She'd told - had practically ordered - him to take his pants off. She'd done the charms. She'd pulled her knickers off.

She'd wanted it. He tried to remember the things she'd said to him, tried to relive every memory. She'd been scared at the beginning and told him to go slow. He'd tried to keep a slow rhythm, but he wondered if it had been too much. He'd sort of lost himself by the end there. She'd ordered him to stop apologising. He remembered how much the bossy tone of her voice had turned him on. He gazed out the window at the vast brown scrub, completely ignoring the mission Hugo had given him. He snuck periodic glances back to Hermione, who was looking out the window. He wondered if she was thinking about it too and if she remembered the things she'd said.

Don't stop.

He remembered those words clear as day. She'd pulled him close and the words had sounded in his ear in a breathy whisper. She wanted him to continue and he remembered she'd seemed to take great pleasure in watching their union, at the sight of their hips crashing together, even as she bit her lip to stifle a cry. Look at us! That's what she'd cried out too. She'd enjoyed it, the knowledge of what they were doing, the sheer sight of it, if not the act itself.

He cursed his own inadequacies then. She'd told him to stop apologising and he'd gone and apologised. She'd told him not to stop and he came in the very next minute. He'd been rubbish. He knew he had. There was no way she'd want to do it with him again. He hadn't known what the fuck he was doing, awkwardly pushing into her, trying to ignore her uncomfortable expressions and painful squeaks. The more he thought about it, the more he realised it had been a complete disaster.

"Oi! Told you to help watch for the roos, eh!" Hugo barked at him as Ron watched a streak of brown soar across the road in front of them.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled.

"You okay? You and your queen have a tiff this morning?"

"No." The words felt like a lie even as he spoke them.

"Cause it seems like maybe you did."

"We're fine, Hugo," Hermione called frostily from the backseat. Hugo gave a whistle and eyed Ron knowingly. There was a mixture of amusement and pity in his face that almost invited Ron to talk to him.

He thought of Harry then and wondered what his best mate would say about what he and Hermione had done. He'd probably roll his eyes and gag and stuff his fingers in his ears. George would take the piss about how he'd lost his nerve and been unable to do the charm at the last minute. Ron thought with a pang how Fred would probably laugh derisively at how quick it had been. He looked across the car to Hugo, who was now driving with only one hand resting loosely on the wheel, and wondered for a moment what Hugo would say.

"So you got any family?" Hugo inquired abruptly. It was the first question he'd asked Ron aside from his inquiry about his birthday yesterday. Ron tried to ignore what an odd question it was to ask out of the blue, grateful at least that Hugo had directed it to him and not Hermione, who still sat quietly in the back after over an hour of silence.

"Uh, yeah, what about you?"

"Yeah, I have a brother, but he got away," Hugo replied vaguely. Ron didn't know what the phrase meant, but he didn't ask for clarification. "You got any brothers or sisters?"

"Both. Well, I've only got one sister, but I have..." Ron paused as he tried to figure out whether he should say four or five. "Five older brothers." The words felt oddly like a lie.

"There's seven of you?" Hugo laughed incredulously. "Boy, your old man don't like to wrap it up, do he?" Ron assumed Hugo was referring to the Muggle contraceptives he'd bought last night and he tried to push out the thought of his father wrapping anything around his cock. "So are they older? Younger?"

"All my brothers are older."

"What do they all do?"

"The oldest works at a bank," Ron replied with nary a second thought. "And the next oldest works with dragons - "

"Dragons?" Hugo frowned.

"Komodo dragons!" Hermione blurted out from the back suddenly, shooting Ron a warning glare at the careless error. Feeling foolish, he sealed his mouth and waited for Hermione to fix the gaffe, praying Hugo would think nothing of the slip. "He works at a zoo," she clarified, "with Komodo dragons."

"Oh, wicked!" Hugo grinned, thankfully seeming to think nothing of it. "He should come to Australia! Got plenty of big reptiles here. What about the rest?"

"One works for the...er - government and the other..." He tried saying the word singular, but couldn't do it. "The others run their own shop." Again, he caught Hermione's eye and her look from his earlier blunder softened.

"Oh yeah? What kind of a shop?" The interrogation continued.

"It's uh – it's a joke shop."

"A joke shop?"

"Yeah, with you know toys and gimmicks and stuff."

"Oh, that's killer. I'd love to own my own shop," Hugo grinned. "Don't know what I'd sell, really, but it'd be nice, y'know, workin' for myself for a change."

"Yeah." At the words, Ron realised for the first time that George was all alone to run the shop now. He wondered if he'd even continue with the business.

"Do you see them much?" Hugo inquired, popping the piece of gum he was chewing rather loudly.

"Who?

"All your brothers?"

There was a long pause and Ron could feel Hermione's eyes on him again.

"Yeah." He had to force the word out of his throat and push back the sudden watery feeling in his eyes. "Yeah, they come home quite a bit."

"That's nice," Hugo remarked thoughtfully. Ron was tempted to inquire after Hugo's family then, but the offhand remark about the brother who 'got away' and the memory of the tales yesterday recounting all the places he'd lived before the age of fourteen silenced him.

"Yeah, it is." Ron felt suddenly guilty.

He couldn't help but feel that the conversation was awfully one-handed. Having Harry, who had never known his parents, as a friend had always made Ron appreciate his enormous family more than he normally would. His mum and dad had so readily accepted Harry into the family though that he'd never really thought about what it would be like for a person to grow up without any kind of family at all. Not just without a mum and dad per se, but just living without the knowledge that there were people out there who loved and cared for you.

He thought briefly about Hermione's teary confession last night in the tent before everything had happened, about not wanting to be alone. She was an orphan too until they found her parents. She'd hinted at that fear and the guilt she carried around. But then their clothes had come off and somehow, despite her parents being the whole purpose of this mad cross-country adventure, they now seemed like an afterthought.

"Are you still in school then?" Hugo posited then and, though Ron was eager not to have to talk about his family anymore, he doubted his ability to avoid any slips of the tongue in talking about Hogwarts.

Much to his relief, Hermione, who had been rather quiet all morning, answered Hugo. She described Hogwarts as an elite public school in the foothills of Scotland. Hugo looked floored by both the news that they lived at the school ten months out of the year and that they'd been attending it together since they were eleven. He roared with laughter imagining all the trouble he would have gotten into.

"And it was coed? You two livin' in the same dormitory?" He looked floored.

"Well, in the same tower - "

"Tower? What, was it a great old castle?"

"-in the same wing," Hermione corrected for the umpteenth time. Ron's tongue kept slipping and he made the wise decision to remain completely silent when Hugo asked about sports teams. He masked his displeasure when Quidditch was demoted into football and Ron found himself keeper of a game with only one ball and one goal.

He looked uncertainly to Hermione when Hugo bragged about his football prowess, wondering what she'd gotten him into when he challenged Ron to a match once they arrived in Perth.

"I never played on a team though. Never made it past grade ten myself," he sighed then. "I reckon the teachers were pretty glad to be shot of me. I didn't really do my work, none. I always liked the sciences though. Runnin' experiments and all that. What about you? What do you like to study?"

Ron again looked back to Hermione blindly, wondering what the Muggle equivalent to Defense Against the Dark Arts was. She seemed at a loss for words as well. Fortunately, Hugo didn't wait very long for them to answer.

"Sometimes I wish I'd continued with my studies. David kept tellin' me it wasn't too late and I ought to try for my Senior Certificate." At the mention of her parents, Hermione's head shot up. It was the first Hugo had mentioned them since the pub back in Paddington. "They used to take me to eat sometimes after I'd finished with the lawn and each time he'd always tell me not to quit on myself."

"They'd take you out?" Ron looked to the back seat and saw Hermione's eyes narrow.

"Yeah. Out to eat mostly, but they took me to a museum once."

"A museum?" The hostility in her voice was obvious to Ron now, but Hugo didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, it was a science museum an' I remember they had this whole section on dinosaurs. I used to love dinosaurs." Ron could see his eyes shine brightly at the memory. "We even went for ice cream after."

Hermione didn't speak, but Ron could see the words stung. He couldn't blame her. Hugo had been much more than just the guy that had cut their grass. He'd been a replacement.

"Are we going to stop for lunch?" It was a weak attempt to change the subject, but also a genuine inquiry into the next time he and Hermione might have a chance to be alone. He hated being in here with her, knowing she had to be thinking about last night, too, and unable to talk about it. Their conversation this morning still echoed in his head. It was fine. It was a lot. It was different.

"Not many places to stop on this stretch, m'afraid." Hugo pointed to the bleak landscape. It was nothing but red clay and scrubby brown bushes everywhere he looked. "Maybe in Cobar.

"How far away is Cobar?" Ron asked hopefully.

"About three hours."

"Well, do we have to stop for - er - a petrol station?" He hoped he remembered the word correctly.

"Nah, we've got enough to get to Cobar," Hugo dismissed, looking down to his fuel gauge.

"We're not going to stop before then?" Hermione sniped. "What if I have to use the toilet?" Ron turned to look at her curiously then, wondering if she actually needed to use the toilet or she just wanted to nag at Hugo. He could see she still looked visibly bothered by the revelation that he'd done much more than just cut her parents' grass.

"I'll pull over now if you need to go." The car slowed and Hermione withdrew her request with the realisation that stopping to relieve themselves on this barren stretch of road meant going right there on the side of the road. "We'll stop in Cobar to eat though if you want," Hugo seemed cheered at the thought of sitting down for a meal together. Hermione hardly looked pleased, but Ron looked forward to the thought of food and a chance to stretch his cramped legs, not to mention the opportunity to talk to Hermione.

When they finally did arrive at the dusty little town of Cobar, it offered little opportunity to be alone with her though. When he raced around the car to help her out of the back, she took his hand with a slight hesitation. When he instinctively moved an arm around her waist as they walked into the tiny restaurant Hugo had selected, she didn't lean into the touch like she usually did. Ron felt his stomach churning, but couldn't figure out whether it was due to mere hunger or something more. She was further from him than she'd been twenty-four hours ago, detached somehow despite what they shared.

He hated it.

When Hugo did finally leave them alone a moment to go to the loo and Ron tried to talk, he found himself feeling like he'd just eaten a pound of Ton-Tongue Toffee. He didn't know how to go about addressing what they'd done when they were in this bright dining room surrounded by strangers.

She seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze, staring down at her tea and adding more sugar than Ron had ever seen her add to her cup. He found himself staring at her hands, unable to push aside the memory of the places they'd reached in the privacy of the tent. It felt like she was a different person. Ron opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He tried to clear his throat, but just ended up swallowing loudly. She had to be thinking about it. There was no way after four hours in the car that she could have forgotten already. Ron found himself reliving the night's events for the millionth time, replaying each detail in his mind, instead of attempting to speak to her until Hugo finally returned.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked bluntly, eyeballing the two as he rested his elbows comfortably atop the table.

"I told you, we're fine," Hermione answered sharply.

"You both seem...I don't know, different," he remarked innocently. There was no waggle of his brows or teasing nature to the words. He seemed genuinely concerned.

"We're fine."

"You're fine?" Hugo laughed. "Yesterday at lunch you was playin' footsie beneath the table. Couldn't hardly keep your eyes off each other." He didn't bother stating the obvious, which was that today she hardly looked at him.

"You don't know us!" Hermione snapped suddenly, and the anger and sudden ferocity in her voice made Ron, for the first time, think about something other than what they'd done last night. He frowned at her, slightly horrified and a bit embarrassed by the rude remark to the young man who had been nothing but kind to them.

"Right." Hugo looked down at his half-eaten chipolatas.

"Watch it," Ron sniped to Hermione then.

"No, she's right," Hugo murmured. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Ron replied brusquely, glaring at Hermione.

The rest of the meal passed in uncomfortable silence. When the matter of the bill came up, Ron watched awkwardly as Hugo rooted around in his pockets for coins with which to pay for his meal while Hermione promptly presented Kingsley's credit card for theirs. Ron had thought while driving perhaps they might treat Hugo to a meal. He sensed by the way he whistled each time they stopped at a petrol station that driving across the continent wasn't exactly cheap and he felt they owed him a meal at the very least. Hermione held the card though and took care of the matter before Ron could even bring it up.

Hugo took control of the radio dial as soon as they returned to the Holden Calibra and he asked no further questions about their families or schooling. He just turned the radio up. So they sat in awkward silence listening to the loud jangly guitars and indeterminable lyrics of Hugo's music as the brown scrub and red earth passed by. Hermione hadn't fallen asleep by the time they reached their destination hours later, a bare patch of grass off the road. Nor had she said a word.

Hugo, who had said almost nothing either since lunch, still offered to leave his lights on so they could set up the tent. While Ron thanked him profusely for the assistance, he had difficulty ignoring the fact that Hermione chose to ignore him. They set up the tent in relative silence, methodically clearing the ground and setting up the bed of sleeping bags. It was like looking into a Pensieve of memories from last night, but if Hermione thought the same she did a fine job disguising it.

Fueled by her her behaviour to Hugo and to him, Ron felt the resentment from lunch bubble up inside him again. It was an odd and disconcerting feeling to have toward Hermione, one that hadn't coursed through him since he'd worn the locket.

He pulled off his shoes and socks first. He saw Hermione's eyes flash toward him at the sound of his jangling belt as he pulled down his trousers next. Desperately, he tried to work out what the look in her eyes meant, but she quickly averted them and began pulling off her shoes as well. They were soon lying side-by-side on the makeshift bed, him in just his shorts and a t-shirt and she in her flannel trousers and a vest he could see her nipples through.

"Well, goodnight," he offered uncomfortably, unsure of what else to say or do.

"Goodnight."

She put out the bluebell flame and for a while they lay there in silence in the darkness. But then she was nestling close to him like she had last night. This time her arm moved around his body and hugged him close. It was a drastic change from the quiet detached way she'd behaved all day. No words were spoken, but the action told him they were all right. Things were weird. It was a lot and it was different. But ultimately they were all right.

Still, Ron couldn't shake the odd feelings from the day after. The bizarre morning. The short lunch with Hugo. The hours of silence.

"It's not his fault, you know," he spoke suddenly.

"Who?"

"Hugo's." He rolled over to face her. "It's not his fault he knows your parents." He finally addressed the resentment he'd noticed from the moment they'd met Hugo outside Highgate Hill and he'd waved that postcard around. Hermione said nothing and refused to look at him, but Ron continued. "We should have paid for him." He recalled the way the young man had scrounged for change. "I don't think he has a lot of money."

Hermione looked suddenly shameful and he knew the words coming from someone who knew what it was like not to have a lot of money cut deep. Her eyes flicked uncomfortably around the tent, resting everywhere but on him. She wasn't used to being scolded, he knew, and the last thing he wanted to do was pile on more guilt. He felt terrible. Hugo had known her parents. He'd seen them smile and laugh and plan holidays to the beach. He'd helped them through the confusion as Hermione's memory charm started to fade.

"I just...hearing him talk about them…" she finally murmured.

"I know," he offered lamely, "but it means they're alive."

"Why do you think they keep moving?" She gazed up at the top of the tent.

"You know why," he murmured softly, but the look she give him told him she needed to hear it aloud. "I think they're trying to find you."

She edged closer toward him then, turning around and all but asking him to hold her. The action reminded him vividly of their first night in the hotel in Brisbane, the first time she'd positioned herself like this. He recalled how nervous and hesitant he'd been even to sleep in the same bed as her. He could feel the same nerves now.

Being this close should feel familiar, but after last night suddenly nothing did. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to even do, whether he should touch her to try to duplicate what they'd shared last night or not. One hand rested awkwardly on her hips, but he was rubbing the cotton between his fingers more than he was actually feeling her.

"You can touch me," she offered meekly then, clearly noting his hesitation.

"Yeah? " he asked unsurely. When her only response was to move her hand atop his and edge closer to him, he dared ask the question that had been driving him mad all day. "Do you want to...you know, do it again...maybe?" He stammered uncertainly, terrified she'd say no.

"I don't know." She didn't withdraw her hand or edge away from him.

"What does that mean?" He surprised himself by pressing her for an answer, wondering if this conversation was easier to have because neither was actually looking each other in the eye.

"I don't know. I feel kind of - I'm a bit...sore," she admitted then.

"Sore?" Comprehension dawned on him as he felt her squeeze her legs together then in obvious discomfort and embarrassment. "Is it my fault?" He withdrew in horror.

"No – yes – no - I mean, it's normal," she stammered.

"It's normal?"

"Yes." She continued to rub her thighs together nervously.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." The assurance did little to comfort him even when she turned around to face him finally.

"Yeah, it is," he muttered guiltily.

"It's normal," she repeated.

"Well, we don't - we don't have to then," Ron tried to dismiss casually like it made no difference to him, but his legs stirred restlessly as he spoke. She pressed the bottom of her foot against his calf then, in an obvious attempt to get him to settle. Then she tangled her legs in his in a comforting and almost flirty manner.

"Maybe tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Like tomorrow morning?" He felt like he was scheduling in revision time.

"Maybe."

"I'm sorry," he apologised again.

"It's not your fault," Hermione assured with a smile, turning around finally. she reached out to comb his hair off his forehead gingerly.

"Not about – I mean - I'm – I'm sorry last night wasn't... better or, you know, longer," he mumbled then, his eyes downcast as he recalled the brief and clumsy encounter for the millionth time that day. Each time he did, he cringed a little more.

"It was you and me." Her smile grew broader and she looked so gorgeous when she did that Ron was able to smile, too. Of course it wouldn't be perfect. It was him and Hermione and nothing ever was.

They fell asleep entwined together. It was much colder than last night and each time either woke up apart they immediately retreated to the warmth of the other. He wasn't sure how much of it was actually wanting to rest together and how much of it was simply escaping the chill, but he couldn't help but take comfort each time she burrowed against him. When he thought about her words before they'd gone to sleep he held her a little tighter.

It was only his own stupid dream that ruined the night. As usual, he couldn't recall much of anything in the way of details. All he could remember was that he'd been walking around a Muggle city and his hands had been covered in blood. The tightness in his chest felt familiar though and he knew what had happened in the dream. She'd been screaming and he'd killed somebody.

He inhaled deeply in an attempt to settle himself so as not to wake Hermione, cursing himself for being the twat who still had nightmares. He was ready for the chaotic memories full of combat and fear to be gone. Nineteen days had passed after all and he was eager to lay the horrors of the last year to rest. He was tired of seeing it all play out before his eyes when he was supposed to be sleeping. He missed the silly wanderings of his brain that he used to have where he flew with the Cannons and stumbled upon Hermione in the bath. He hated waking up haunted by her body crumpling beneath the chandelier or his best friend in Hagrid's arms.

He found himself suddenly missing his best friend then, wondering how Harry managed to live with so many horrors in his past and how he ever managed to sleep through the night. He'd seen Sirius and Cedric die right in front of him after all. For fuck's sake, Harry had died himself. He rubbed his face with his hands and drew in another steadying breath, wondering if he'd ever go back to dreaming about Hermione in the bath.

"You okay?" Hermione murmured from beside him then, reaching out for him without opening her eyes.

"M'fine," he dismissed, annoyed at himself for waking her

"Were you dreaming?" she asked with her eyes still closed. He loved that she was trying to talk to him even though all he knew she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I don't even remember...what it was," he lied. The blood on his hands might be imagined in the dream, but all he could think about was all the death he'd caused and been witness to this year.

"Good, then come back here," she beckoned him closer, but he didn't budge.

There was Greyback, obviously. Somehow the more time that passed the more Ron realised a quick death had been too good an end for the werewolf and he ought to have let him live out his life in Azkaban. Then there was Peter Pettigrew. While Ron knew Pettigrew had technically killed himself, he could still vividly recall the sight of the silver fingers tightening around his throat, the dilated pupils and awful purplish hue his skin had taken. Mostly he remembered how powerless he'd been to stop it. Then there was the man in Diagon Alley who had lunged for Hermione. His fingers had wrapped around her throat so quickly Ron's reaction had just been instinctual. It was just a Stunning Spell, he knew, but the force of it had been so hard the man hadn't stirred. Then there were all the poor Muggleborns they'd probably led to their death at the Ministry and the countless people he'd had to run by and ignore nineteen days ago after the Death Eaters infiltrated Hogwarts.

"What did you dream about?" Hermione queried, her voice thick with concern, when Ron didn't return to her.

"I told you, I don't remember." He didn't exactly lean into her touch as he spoke the words stiffly.

"Go to sleep, Ron," she tried to soothe. And he knew then they were both still doing it. She knew it had been something. She knew he could remember, but it was just like last night. She'd confessed her fear about her mum and dad. Then they'd had sex. Then they didn't talk to each other the entire day.

They both desperately wanted to be okay again, but neither wanted to have the real conversations that would help them get there. Each time they came close, they just created more to cover it up with.

He rubbed his face again in exhaustion. Here was their chance to talk about it, to really confront the madness of the last year, the way they only had in passing so far. He could tell her about how he relived all those deaths every night. He wondered if Hermione remembered the man in Diagon Alley who had nearly strangled her or the way he had reacted. He wondered if she thought he'd killed him, too. He could ask her if she remembered her nightmares. He could ask about the admission back in Brisbane about how she'd called for him back at the Malfoys. But it was the middle of the night and she clearly just wanted to go back to sleep.

So he drew the sleeping bag up around them both further, adjusted his body so it was flush with hers, and tried to go back to sleep too.

First, he thought the shadow was just an oddly shaped leaf. He couldn't see much silhouetted against the canvas in the early morning sun. It was just a dark spot that he assumed was a leaf from the tree above them. But then the leaf on top of the tent began to move. The leaf had legs - eight of them.

He wasn't sure if Hermione was awake yet or not, but he called her name and gave her a firm shake to rouse her.

"What?" She gave a groggy moan and rubbed her eyes, not even turning toward him.

"There's a spider!"

"In the tent?"

"Outside!"

"So it's outside," she dismissed and pulled the sleeping bag further around her, but he shook her again.

"But look at it!" he pressed. Reluctantly, she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. Ron felt redeemed as he saw her mouth drop open.

"That is a big spider," she admitted.

"Do something!"

"Do what?" she laughed dismissively. "It's on the outside of the tent."

"I don't know, curse it! Make it go away," he pressed.

"You curse it!"

"I might miss," he confessed. "And then I'll make him angry."

"It's probably a female." She yawned lazily, not sharing his agitation about the enormous arachnid. "Female spiders are usually bigger."

"I don't care what it is! It looks like one of Aragog's effing grandchildren!" Ron sputtered. "If you don't kill it, I will."

He rolled up his sleeves and prepared to do battle with the monstrosity.

"Don't kill it!" she cried with a sudden urgency and reached to stay his wand hand.

"It's just a spider," he mumbled, suddenly uncomfortable and thinking about his dream last night. Hermione said nothing. She took out her willow wand, immobilized the spider and floated it away from the tent, then lowered herself back to the bed of sleeping bags. Ron felt shameful for some reason, like he'd just confessed he wanted to slaughter a pygmy puff. "Hugo said some of the spiders here eat birds," Ron stammered defensively. "When do you think he'ill wake up?" He tried for further conversation after several minutes of silence.

"Probably not for a while." The soft light streaming through the tent indicated it was still early.

"Yeah." Ron fidgeted with the covers again, as unsure as he'd been last night about how they were supposed to interact. She'd said maybe tomorrow. "Where do you think we'll go today?"

"Through South Australia hopefully."

"Right." Ron suddenly wished he'd spent more time looking at the map of Australia she'd tossed to him in the hotel room so he could add something to the conversation. Instead there was silence. He tried to think of something to say, but somehow everything ended with their conversation last night. Her tongue seemed knotted too.

When her legs brushed against him again beneath the covers, he couldn't tell if it was accidental or her way of initiating contact. He felt strangely unsure of himself and even apologised when his forearm brushed her breast.

"Do you want to - "

"We can do it again."

They both mumblws at the same time while lying stiffly on their backs.

Then it was all awkward fumbling hands to remove the few layers between them. This is what they did now. They got naked and had sex.

They could both see more in the soft sunlight streaming through the tent than they had the other night and when she clasped her legs together after pulling off her knickers, Ron wasn't sure whether it was nervous anticipation or a fit of modesty. She seemed more modest even than she had been the other night.

Their lips met in a brief and sloppy kiss that had been altogether lacking yesterday and there was a breathy exchange of 'I love yous' before he began moving inside her anew. She felt as warm and tight as the first time. Her arms were wrapped around him and her body moved with him and he desperately wanted it to be better. The movement of his hips grew bolder than the shallow and slow clumsy thrusts of their first time and he even muttered her name a time or two. Still, he couldn't make out whether the breaths she took in were from pleasure or pain. Sometimes she looked like she was bracing herself the way he did before a Bludger came his way. So he grunted an apology, his face lowered to the crook of her neck until he was panting against her. There were no placating words this time.

He felt her fingernails pressing into his flesh. He heard strange noises that sounded like hiccups from her mouth and he watched her eyes squeeze shut. The movement of his hips grew quicker and shorter, her whole body shifting and her breasts bouncing with each jerk. A shimmer of sweat now covered his whole body and his heaving breaths now matched the quick rhythm. He tried to ignore what looked like a look of relief on her face when he slowed against her and gave one last shudder.

This time there was no mistaking his inadequacies. She hadn't enjoyed a minute of it, she'd merely endured it. He rolled off her in a hurry and quickly got up to go piss, horrified at his own failures yet again. It had been worse than last time. He'd known he was good at fucking things up, but this was supposed to be easy. Who screwed up sex this badly? He reckoned nobody was this miserable at it. Hermione had looked very much like, once again, she was just waiting for it to be over. Granted, he'd lasted a bit longer, but he'd slipped out more than once and every time he did she blew out a weary sigh. It was pitiful really. He ought to just give up. He watched Hermione pull on a shirt and crawl toward the entrance to relieve herself. Ron glanced down at his naked sweaty form. He reckoned he could use a shower and wondered if they'd pulled over near water. He wouldn't mind being alone.

This would be it. This would be the end of him and Hermione. A proper couple couldn't function when one person so obviously didn't enjoy sex with the other. Fuck, he couldn't believe he was that bad.

He climbed into the tent silently and almost dreaded her return. After a week where he'd enjoyed every conversation that hinted at sex and what they wanted to do to each other, he found that now they'd done it he didn't want to talk about it anymore. She didn't seem too eager either and quickly went about gathering discarded shoes and socks and cleaning up the tent. This was brilliant. This was fucking brilliant.

They didn't speak a word about it. There was no playful teasing and comfortable closeness. Ron was grateful yet again when Hugo arrived to begin the day's drive, but even he was oddly formal when he approached the tent and called them out. Everything was cold and uncomfortable.

Hugo gave no verbal history about the stretch of road they were traveling on or the wildlife they would encounter. All he did was inform them that they'd soon be entering South Australia and would then be on the road that would take them right into Perth. They were more obvious than they had been yesterday that something was amiss between them, but Hugo didn't bother asking what was wrong this time. Ron could see the curiosity behind his eyes each time he glanced back to look at Hermione, though. It reminded him oddly of his brother Bill and the way he looked at him when he knew something was wrong, like when he'd showed up this winter a complete and utter mess. Hermione's words yesterday appeared to have cut him deep though because he remained silent, fiddling with the radio dial himself and making no inquiry about their favourite colours or sports teams. Though he had had difficulty talking to him without blurting anything about dragons or Quidditch yesterday, Ron missed the comfortable conversation.

Fortunately, an early stop at a petrol station to use the loo and buy snacks provided a much needed break from the tension.

"Look, I - I know I don't know you or nothin'," Hugo stammered, "but you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"What are you talking about?" Ron played dumb.

"Did you two split or something?" Hugo laughed.

Unsure how to answer, Ron just fidgeted uncomfortably beside the car while it continued to guzzle fuel. He truthfully wasn't sure whether they had or not. This morning had gone so poorly and there had been no conversation after, but she really hadn't needed to say anything to tell him it had been bad.

"What happened?" Hugo pressed.

"I - I don't know if I should say," Ron stammered finally.

"I won't tell her you told me." The way Hugo spoke told Ron that the young man knew very well Hermione didn't care for him. Somehow it made him feel more ashamed.

"I don't think I should."

"Fine," Hugo relented and finished filling up the tank with a shrug. Memories of uncomfortably pained looks and Hermione's underwhelmed expression this morning played out before Ron. He wanted to tell Hugo. For some reason, he felt like the young man who he knew had had sex before would know what to do. He glanced back to the shop where Hermione still appeared to be perusing the shelves only to see Hugo had already climbed back into the car.

"Okay, have you ever been with a girl who- "

"Been with?"

"Had sex with," Ron clarified hurriedly, terrified Hermione was going to appear at any minute. "Have you ever had sex with a girl who didn't – I mean she didn't - "

"Cum?"

"Er...yeah." Looking to the floorboards, Ron waited to hear Hugo laugh at him like his older brothers always did on the rare occasion he asked them for advice.

"Yeah, I bet most of them probably faked it," he gave a dismissive snort and waved his hand.

"No, uh she's not faking it." Ron knew at this point it was fairly obvious he was talking about Hermione and he couldn't make himself look at Hugo when he repeated the statement. "She just sort of...she doesn't do anything."

"Anything?"

"Well, she..." Ron looked again through the store window where he could see Hermione now standing in the queue waiting to pay. She'd flay him if she knew he was talking about this with Hugo, but he had to talk to somebody. "Well, sometimes she tells me not to stop and she - sometimes I think..maybe it's good." Ron recalled an all too brief wonderful sounding moan last night. "But then she – sometimes it seems like she's so happy when it's over."

"I'm sure that ain't true," Hugo dismissed. "I seen the way she looks at you."

"She just lies there," Ron remarked glumly and glanced again to the building to make sure Hermione was still safely out of earshot. He felt a bit guilty telling Hugo about something so intimate, but he had faith for some reason the young man would be able to help.

"Well, I reckon that's probably a good thing."

"How do you mean?" Ron frowned.

"Well, if she ain't fakin' it, it means she don't wanna lie to you." Hugo shrugged. "I mean, would you rather she pretend she did and you go on believin' a lie?"

"I guess not."

"She always been like this?"

"I dunno, it was only our second time," Ron admitted. Hugo grinned and murmured something that sounded like 'I knew it'.

"That's why you've both been so weird!" Now the laughter kicked in.

"It's not funny."

"It is funny," Hugo chortled.

"Piss off."

"What exactly do you think is the problem?" Hugo cackled.

"The problem is I don't think she wants to do it again," Ron muttered quickly as he watched Hermione approach the car.

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Hugo raised his eyebrows and grinned at Ron before climbing out to let Hermione in the backseat. Ron felt his ears burn and desperately hoped Hugo would keep quiet. He looked brightly to the paper bags Hermione had and asked about what she'd purchased, the private conversation with Ron apparently dissolving the walls he'd put up after yesterday.

"Everything you asked for," Hermione replied quietly. "Even the Freddo Frogs."

"Frogs?"

"No worries, mate, they're just chocolate," Hugo dismissed at Ron's inquiry.

"Chocolate frogs!" Ron exclaimed, whirling around to Hermione excitedly, the discomfort of the morning fading at the revelation of something familiar in this most unfamiliar situation. He could see Hermione smile despite herself.

"Yeah, want to try one?" Hugo reached back to take the bag from Hermione. "Some of 'em have got cream in there too. What else did you buy?" He rifled through the bag's contents and grinned as he pulled out an assortment of sweets and snacks he had asked her to purchase. "Wicked, this ought to get us to Port Augusta."

"Are we going much further than that?" Hermione asked as she settled into the back and pulled out the old roadmap Hugo had stuffed there, following the route he'd laid out yesterday. The young man glanced knowingly across the driver side to Ron at the inquiry.

"Not if...you don't want to," he replied slowly, as if the words were a bit difficult to say. Thus far he had done all the driving and determined nearly everything about their schedule. He was now ceding control of the trip to her. And Ron had a hunch he was doing it for him.

While she didn't smile, Hermione looked pleased at the remark and Hugo looked to Ron hopefully. Suddenly, the awkwardness of the morning was gone. Hugo seemed to lift both of their spirits somehow. Whether by telling tales of his time on the croc farm or battling Ron biscuit for biscuit to see how many they could eat, the heavy air in the car disappeared.

Hugo didn't quite understand Ron's disappointment over a chocolate frog that looked more like a bar of chocolate than a frog, nor did he seem to get the scathing look Hermione gave Ron when he blurted out that he had a chocolate frog that jumped out the window once, but he had them both laughing again.

And when they arrived at a campground outside Port Augusta, hands found each other quickly, touching and caressing in that wonderful easy way as soon as they set up the tent. She wiggled out of her jeans and knickers quickly, seemingly as eager as him to try again. Ron thought about his conversation with Hugo and smiled.

But ten minutes later they were both lying on their backs again in awkward silence after once again stepping outside to relieve themselves. Ron was beginning to hate the terrible routine of it all. This wasn't how it was all supposed to be.

"Does it still hurt?" He recalled how she'd squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into him.

"No, not this time," Hermione confessed. Her use of the word 'this time' wasn't lost on him and he thought about his conversation with Hugo.

"But it didn't feel good, either?"

There was no audible reply from Hermione at first. Ron thought again about Hugo and the silver lining he'd found. She didn't want to lie to him. He reckoned this was quite the test.

"It doesn't...all feel good, no," she admitted and she edged closer to him as she said the words. "But it's you and me...and - " She snaked a hand across his chest, but he was hardly receptive to hearing her placating words again. 'It's you and me' seemed to be her default response to explain how shitty it had been and the words did nothing to soothe him this time. "Ron."

"It doesn't feel good."

"But I want it to."

"But it doesn't," he remarked crossly.

"It's – it's my fault, it's me - " she stammered then and she sounded oddly teary. This was definitely not what sex was supposed to be like. Tears and blame and guilt.

"It's not you. It's obviously me." He rolled over to sleep.

"Ron," she called his name plaintively and shoved his back. "Ron, please, it's not you." She shook him now, but there was no response. "Ron!" Anger exploded from her and he felt her tiny fist strike him hard between the shoulder blades.

"Stop hitting me!" he growled without turning over.

"Stop ignoring me!"

"I'm tired," he snapped.

"Well, I'm not and I want - I want to talk about it!" He still refused to turn over and she punched him again in the back with her tiny fist.

"Would you stop hitting me!" he fired again.

"Would you stop ignoring me!" They went in circles again and still Ron didn't turn over. "Can you stop being so bloody proud and look at me!" He ignored the angry expletive she hurled his way and the way she continued to shove at him.

He let them both go to bed angry.


	40. Chapter 40

She climbed in the front seat on day three and Ron was only too happy to sulk in the back. Hugo gave him a knowing glance as he climbed into the cramped back seat of the Calibra, well aware of the source of their disconnect. Ron was almost confident that was why he cheerfully proposed getting breakfast as soon as they buckled themselves in.

"I just want to get to Perth," Hermione remarked coldly. When Hugo informed them that the journey to Perth today would involve traveling on the longest straight road in Australia, maybe even the world, Hermione sounded none too pleased. Ron could already tell after ten minutes on the Eyre Highway that it would not be a particularly scenic 1,000 miles save for the road crossing signs. Apparently it wasn't just kangaroos Ron had to watch for now, but camels too.

"So you said you two were eleven when you first met, right?" Hugo's voice had a jovial and playful tone to it, clearly amused by the sullen behaviour of both now that he knew the root of the condition. "That's impressive." He whistled. "I don't think I even talk to anyone I knew when I was eleven. How did you meet? I mean aside from both bein' at school together."

"A mutual friend," Hermione answered quietly.

"You were best friends right from the start then?"

"No, he was horribly mean to me for a long time," Hermione informed indignantly.

"It was for two months and I'd hardly say you were kind to me."

"He called me names and made me cry." She seemed oddly eager to remind him.

"Shall I bring up all the times you put me down?"

"I never put you down - "

"You showed off all the time in lessons, you made fun of my spells - "

"Spells?" Hugo looked quizzically to Hermione, but for the first time she didn't bother correcting Ron's blunder.

"You called me a nightmare!" She was turned around in the seat now and facing Ron.

"Well, you were," he snorted. "Everybody thought so. And shall I remind you I still saved your life."

"Oh, you want to count the number of times I've saved your arse?" Hermione fumed, ignoring Hugo again, who didn't seem at all alarmed by the news that they'd both been involved in life-threatening situations.

Ron had no idea what they were even arguing about or what he was trying to prove. All he knew was that he didn't feel completely in the wrong.

"You didn't believe I could be made prefect over Harry! You didn't think I could win a match without cheating!" Hugo was all but forgotten as Ron raged. Suddenly he was back walking across the Madyha Pradesh with Rajiv and he wouldn't give in first.

"Oh, I did? I did?" Hermione laughed haughtily. "You were the one who thought the Liquid Luck was why you'd played so well in the first place!"

"Yeah, well, you're perfect at everything so of course you wouldn't understand!"

Hugo looked highly amused from his position behind the wheel as they continued to insult and inform him of all the times they'd hurt each other. They both were careless, letting word like 'potion' and 'spell' slip, but Hugo seemed solely interested in tracking their rocky seven-year courtship. Every row they'd ever had, every insult they'd ever hurled at the other or misunderstanding got hashed out inside the Holden Calibra.

"So you didn't ask her to this ball and then got angry when she took another bloke?" Hugo butted in for clarification when there seemed to be a brief pause in the shouting.

"Yes, and then after I did ask him to a party, he went and kissed another girl!"

"Only because you snogged Krum!" he fired, blurting out what he never had before.

"Two years before!" she laughed absurdly. "Is that really it? That's why you went out with Lavender for four months?"

"It wasn't four months," Ron nitpicked.

"Yes, it was four months because you were too much of a coward to end things," she argued.

"Oh, so you're calling me a coward then?"

"You were a coward! Even Harry thought so. Pretending to be asleep every time she came by and hiding in the corridors."

"That's your best friend, right? Harry?" Hugo jumped in for clarification like he did every few minutes to remind them he was still there. He seemed to find it all very entertaining and made no attempt to smooth things over. Ron wondered if he had picked up from their arguing that they could stay angry at each other for weeks and even months.

"That's rich coming from Harry, he's never had to ditch anyone in his life." Ron tried to pretend like the words that his best mate thought him a coward didn't sting.

"Never had to ditch anyone?" Hermione laughed incredulously. "He ended things with your sister last spring even though you know perfectly well he didn't want to - "

"Wait, your best mate gets on with your sister?" Hugo looked even more amused as their story unfolded.

"He was honest with Ginny!" Hermione ignored Hugo's inquiry. "He told her to her face they couldn't continue things. You pretended to be asleep every time Lavender came around! You couldn't even be a man about it! "

Ron stared out at the unchanging treeless landscape. Her words were accurate and he had difficulty coming up with any way to refute them. He had been a coward. He'd always been a coward. He'd hid from Lavender, ditched his two best friends when they needed him most, skipped his brother's funeral and run away to Australia. He knew her anger wasn't rooted in all that though. She was angry because he'd shut her out last night. So she continued to hurl insults his way and bring up everything he'd already apologised for back on the floor of the Tropics. Somehow after what they'd shared, the reminders about all his failures and inadequacies seemed to cut deeper. Somehow at her last words, he didn't have the heart to fight anymore.

"That's right. I'm the fuck up," he muttered in resignation, continuing to stare out the window at the stark treeless plain. "I'm always the fuck up."

"You don't...fuck up," she repeated his crass words with modest hesitation, the anger suddenly seeming to fade. "You just...don't trust yourself. You never have. Not with Quidditch. Not with school." She paused and licked her lips. "And not with me."

He knew she was talking about last night now and when Hugo cleared his throat and muttered about a roadhouse up ahead, he knew it was only a polite reminder that he was still there in the car with them. Ron wasn't sure how to go about replying to her words so it was fifteen silent and uncomfortable miles until they reached the tiny outpost.

Hugo quickly made himself scarce, muttering about needing to use the loo and get some more Freddo Frogs so as to leave them alone in the car. Ron was still leaning against the window and he made no move to look at her when she finally twisted around in the seat to face him. When she spoke his name her voice was no longer harsh and accusing, but soft and gentle. Still, only when it trembled slightly did he finally turn his eyes to her.

"You have to trust yourself," she implored, clutching the seatback. "You have to trust us."

Silence continued as he averted his eyes and picked at dirt that had collected beneath his fingernail. "You have to talk, Ron."

"Talk about what?" he muttered. "The fact that I'm a rubbish lay?"

"It was only our third time! And you're not rubbish - "

"Please don't patronise me. Not about this!" he fumed. "It's not a stupid Quidditch match or a ruddy Charms lesson. It's - "

"It's sex," she blurted the words out matter-of-factly. "We had sex." The words seemed to echo around the inside of the vehicle. It was the first time either had ever actually said it. "And Hugo knows, doesn't he?"

"Maybe," Ron murmured guiltily.

"Why will you talk to him and not to me?" Hermione cried.

"Because," he mumbled and scratched his head, knowing that was hardly an answer.

"Ron." She was twisted now at what looked to be an unbelievably uncomfortable position. "You need to talk to me."

"It's just...you're amazing," he muttered, finally lifting his eyes to her. "You feel amazing and I...I can't make you feel that way." He gave a defeated shrug, finally admitting what bothered him most.

"But that's not your fault."

"Hermione, stop!" There was an obvious edge to his voice that indicated he didn't want to be lied to any further.

"No, it's me! I don't know what I'm doing!" she blurted out then, her voice raised to speak over him. "It's me!" She pressed her hands to her chest then, insisting the same thing she had last night. "I'm the one who - I - I don't know what to do." She blushed and let her voice, which was thick with embarrassment, fade.

"You're barking," Ron snorted. "You don't have to do anything."

"But I can't just lie there!" she wailed. "But then I don't know what else to do and I know i should do something and I want to, you know...finish the way that you do, but I don't know how to do that and I'm just - I'm bad at it. I'm bad at sex," she stated firmly and Ron couldn't help but think she was talking about sex like it was a course at Hogwarts she'd earned poor marks in and had to revise for.

"I'm the one who can't make you feel good."

"You really think it doesn't feel good?" she asked then. Her voice, as small and meek as it sounded, was oddly similar to the tone it had on the floor of the Tropics when he'd admitted to questioning her love for him.

"You certainly don't seem to enjoy it," Ron admitted. "And you don't - I mean I'm guessing you don't even come close to...to..."

"You feel good." She reached between the seats then so she could rest her hand atop his. "And it was...a lot and it..wasn't perfect, but when you first..." She kept her hand on his, but he saw colour rise in her cheeks as she averted her eyes before saying more. "When I feel you...inside me..." She appeared to need a moment to compose herself after speaking such frank words. "It's like you're a part of me and it's...it's... "

"Yeah?"

"I...I..." she stammered for words, but none came out. It was the first time in his life he'd truly known Hermione Granger to be at an utter loss for words.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She continued to rub his hand, her face pressed against the seatback as she smiled reassuringly to him. It had been a lot. It had been messy and different and everything she had said it was, there was no denying that. But it had also apparently rendered her unable to speak.

"And I'm sorry I - I kind of panicked," she admitted and let out a loud shaky breath. "I was worried that - that maybe it wasn't - that we should have waited." Ron's eyes flashed with worry he knew she could see. "But ignoring me and - and going to bed angry, you can't do that," she admonished as gently as possible. "We're in a relationship, Ron." Though he knew it was true, he instinctually felt the briefest moment of panic at the term, as it was the first either had ever used it. "You can't just hide from things. You need to..."

Her voice trailed away and she looked like she wished she could swallow her last words. She was hiding from things just as much as he was.

He'd known it since the rainy Dijon square when she'd hatched up the ridiculous plan to go find Viktor. When she'd wailed on one hand that she didn't want to wait any longer to find her parents, but then taken a two-day train trip to Bulgaria just to get back on track. He'd known something was off then, but he'd remained silent because it was easier than facing the messy truth of it all. The truth that Hermione Granger wasn't okay.

"You need to talk about it," he finished her sentence for her, but then edited it slightly. She wasn't okay, but neither was he. "We need to talk about it."

"I don't know where to even start." She managed a laugh at the enormity of the task he'd just suggested. The war, her torture, her parents, their relationship, each seemed like such an enormous undertaking. The war was over, it had ended nearly three weeks ago, yet they'd said almost nothing about it. They were in a relationship, but they hardly discussed any of the things they'd endured in the last year. They slept beside each other every night and hardly mentioned the cause of the nightmares that made them toss and turn.

"But let's start," Ron suggested softly, meeting her eyes.

"Okay."

At the simple word, he wanted to do then what he realised he hadn't done properly for nearly two days: kiss her.

Wedged into in the backseat like he was, his knees practically at the height of his nose, he leaned forward as much as he could. Both of her knees were balanced precariously on the plastic centre console that divided the two front seats as she leaned back toward him and their lips met.

He guessed after nearly three weeks together they had probably kissed hundreds of times, but somehow this felt different from any other. At this moment, it all came crashing down on him: what they'd been through, what they were, and what they could be. They fought, they shouted, they snogged, and now they had sex.

He remembered Harry's teasing back in Gryffindor tower and his brother's accusations that he'd shag Hermione's brains out before he returned to the Burrow that had both seemed so far fetched. Suddenly, Ron longed for the privacy of the tent and he kicked himself for being such an arse last night. He'd wasted the few precious hours they had alone on this cross-continent trek. He opened his eyes and found her staring up at his half-lowered lids.

"You're supposed to close your eyes," he teased, recalling that first real kiss back at the Burrow. Her only response, like his had been then, was to move in to capture his lips again. She leaned so far toward him when she did that she tumbled through the gap in the seats. "Maybe we should try and find Hugo?" he laughed, collecting her limbs and glancing to the tiny Nundroo Roadhouse where their guide had disappeared, confident he would not appreciate anything further happening in the backseat of his precious car.

"I suppose," Hermione relented and Ron was oddly cheered by the sound of disappointment in her voice as she clambered out of the car and hurried to release him from the back. Their lips met again once they were both out of the Calibra and again they were slow to break apart. He wondered if she was suddenly as aware of the absence of kissing the last three days as he was. This kind of intimacy, the way her fingers grasped at his shirt and her teeth tugged at his lower lip, somehow went missing in the tent when their shirts and underwear came off. But Ron had the sense that it wouldn't be missing anymore. They worked through things. They both weren't okay. She'd run away from finding her parents and sought solace in him just the same way he took comfort in her. There was so much they both still had to talk about, but they worked through things and in the end they were still okay and still together.

"You did tell him, didn't you?" she asked suddenly, looking up to the roadhouse where Hugo was.

"Yes, but I think he already knew," Ron admitted.

She took his arm and squeezed it a little harder than necessary in reprimand as they walked to the small dust-coloured building, muttering the entire time about how she couldn't believe Ron had told him. Her annoyance turned to embarrassment as soon as they approached Hugo. Her hair fell in front of her face and she made no attempt to fix it. Ron shook his head and tried to suppress a grin at the strange circumstances that had led to a twenty-two year old Australian drifter being the first person to learn they'd been intimate. But as they entered the dark roadhouse and Ron's eyes found Hugo, whose eyes brightened considerably upon seeing them arm in arm, he instinctively knew he never would have asked Harry the things he'd asked Hugo yesterday about Hermione. Harry would probably box him in the ears if he described what Hermione did and didn't do when they had sex. Maybe it was the fact that Hugo was a stranger that had made it so easy.

"You're done yelling at each other, then?" Hugo grinned at the two of them and gnawed on a chicken wing then motioned to a buffet of bain maries. "They said this is the last place for six hours that's got hot food. There's all kinds of stuff - corn jacks, chiko rolls, dim sims." Hugo pointed to the assortment of food heaped onto his plate. "It might be the best we get for a while." Ron had little idea what most of the items he was pointing to or referring to were, but he made a beeline at the thought of hot food.

The assortment of steamed dumplings and toasted sandwiches was hardly breakfast fare, but if Hermione objected to it, she said nothing. She loaded her plate up, equally eager for the first chance at hot food in days.

"It's quite a history you two have." Hugo grinned at them both as they slid into the cramped booth. At the mention of their history, Ron suddenly recalled all that they'd let slip in their shouting match in the car. Quidditch and spells and trolls and charms. He doubted even Hermione's ability to improvise explanations for all they'd blurted out. If Hugo was curious about any of it though he stayed mum."You're much more fun to be around when you're keen for a shag, y'know," Hugo teased, looking to Hermione who turned crimson.

"Oh, shutup," she muttered as she looked down to the tabletop. Ron had to do his best to swallow his own amusement.

"So that bloke over there said there are only a few roadhouses in the Nullarbor that have proper motels." Hugo motioned to a thickset man with a sunburned face and sandy-coloured hair stuffing his face with fried sausages. For the briefest of moments, Ron thought Hugo was going to stop the teasing and discuss their travel plans the rest of the day. "Proper beds and everythin' so you don't have to do it on the ground no more."

"I can't believe you told him." Hermione buried her face into Ron's shoulder.

"Please, he didn't have to tell me nothin'," Hugo laughed. "You two are more obvious than a gorilla in a pack of rats. All over each other one minute, poutin' at each other the next."

"We were not...all over each other," she mumbled.

"You never took your hands off each other from the moment I met you," he challenged. At the words, Ron found it hard to believe it had been nearly four days since Hermione had sobbed against him in front of her parents' old house and Hugo had stumbled upon them. "I don't mind. Don't blush too easily, if you haven't noticed. I just don't want none of it in my car."

"Do you want something to drink?" Hermione stood up abruptly from the table, the crimson colour not fading from her cheeks.

"Some of that orange fizzy stuff, but I can get it." Ron insisted though he knew she was eager to depart the booth and collect herself. Wordlessly, she shrugged him off and hurried away.

"You've gotta stop with that, mate," Ron admonished.

"She blushes easily, don't she?" Hugo laughed, reminding Ron oddly of his brother.

"You've gotta stop doing it," he maintained, despite how amusing he did find Hermione's modesty.

"It's just sex." He sounded eerily like George again.

"Yeah, but...have you ever had sex with a girl you loved before?" Hugo was silent at the query, but quickly gathered himself and turned the tables on Ron.

"You ever had sex with a girl you didn't?" he mused, though Ron was quite sure he already knew the answer.

"No," he answered anyway, "but I know what it's like to use people."

"It's supposed to be fun," Hugo dismissed. "The more you both remember that the less you'll probably be poutin' the mornin' after."

"I just want it to be good for her," Ron confessed glumly. "She says it is, but..."

"Girls are tough to please," Hugo shrugged. "It takes 'em a while longer. You gotta do a little more an' get a little more creative." He waggled his fingers. "Ask her what she likes, y'know? You've gotta talk to her."

"Yeah, I've been hearing that a lot," Ron mused.

"Well, then maybe you ought to start listening."

The landscape and the road never changed. It was exactly what Hugo had promised, the flattest stretch of road Ron had ever seen with no curves and no vegetation aside from the same rugged saltbush-covered terrain. The roadhouses and Caltex stations were few and far between and sometimes they'd go hours without passing any building at all. He wasn't sure how it started, but it no longer felt like they were riding along with a stranger. Maybe it was when Hugo directed him to take charge of the radio dial and laughed at his poor clueless selection or when he finally forced them both to try the Vegemite and Ron gagged so hard his eyes watered. Hugo guffawed loudly, shaking with laughter so violently Ron thought he might drive the car off the road.

"You knew I would do that, didn't you, you wanker!" Ron growled and shoved Hugo in the shoulder so hard he made the car swerve slightly.

"Well, you're crossing the Nullarbor, you've camped in the Outback. You had to try Vegemite! You're practically a true Aussie now," he grinned widely, revealing the slightly chipped canine on his left side. "I never could get David and Emily to try it."

It was one of only a handful of mentions of her parents since they'd sat in the dingy Brisbane pub days ago and weighed whether or not to trust Hugo. Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, pretending to arch his back and stretch his long legs to avoid saying anything. He wasn't too sure what he should even say. Despite the fact that Hermione's parents were the whole reason they were on this multi-day trek across the continent with Hugo, they had made almost no mention of them since the day Hugo had revealed they'd once taken him to a science museum.

"How did you meet them?" Hermione asked from the back, her voice was tentative and shakier than he knew she would have liked.

"My car broke down," he shared cheerfully.

"This car?" Ron gulped, looking down at the controls and wondering if it was about to break apart beneath them.

"Yeah, this one. Don't worry, I fixed it. It was just the bearings on the crankshaft, but your father was trying to tell me it was the spark plugs."

"I never said he was my father," Hermione challenged suddenly, sounding quite defensive and for a moment Ron worried the tension from the past few days would return.

"Right." Ron was glad Hermione couldn't see Hugo's face to see how little he believed her, yet he continued on with hardly a pause. "Anyway. They offered me a ride and David tried to help me figure out what was wrong. Brilliant man, he is, but he don't know a damn thing about cars." He shook his head with a laugh.

"So they just picked you up? off the road? like a dog?" Ron queried.

"They just gave me a ride to the servo."

Ron glanced back and he could see Hermione frowning. He wondered whether the Grangers usually did things like give strangers rides to the service station. "It wasn't far and they said I had an honest face." He answered Ron's question. "Anyway, they hadn't been in country long so I offered to show 'em around Brisbane."

"And that's how you met them?" Hermione repeated it more like a statement than a question.

"That's how I met 'em."

There was a moment of pause before Hermione spoke again.

"Did they talk about England much?"

"Not a lot, no," Hugo replied, a knowing look in his eye as he glanced to Ron. "Just said they'd always wanted to come live in Australia. I asked why Brisbane, they said they didn't really know."

Hermione's queries continued in short halting inquiries - what they liked to do on the weekends, if they'd had many friends, what kind of car they drove. Since he didn't know the Grangers very well, Hugo's replies that they'd leased a Honda and liked to ride bikes around Brisbane meant very little to Ron. He could see each revelation did something to Hermione though. The lingering resentment toward Hugo had finally lifted it seemed and she no longer flinched or frowned when he said their names. He was a connection to them, living proof she'd made the right choice in sending them here. Thanks to her, they'd been able to live their life, to take trips to the beach and morning bike rides to the bakery.

Ron wasn't sure why she still felt the need to disguise the fact that they were her parents. Hugo hadn't asked any questions about Quidditch or Potions lessons or any of the other careless things they'd let slip that morning. Yet it was the stories about Hermione's parents that proved the young man's faith and loyalty the most.

"When did they start to go a bit funny?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"Well, they didn't start callin' themselves David and Emily 'til this year, but they knew somethin' was off before then. I don't know, December I suppose it was? That's when they first started talkin' about somethin' not bein' right."

"What did they mean 'something not being right'?" Ron inquired curiously.

"I don't think they knew really." Hugo shrugged. "It was just this feelin' that something was off. You know, like when you have this perfect moment where you know you should be happy and completely at peace, but...you're not and you can't figure out what it is?" Ron and Hermione were both quiet as they mulled over his words. Up until he'd wisened up to his feelings for her, Hermione had always been that part of Ron's life he didn't quite understand. The part of him that was missing that he couldn't figure out. "Well, that's how they said they felt all the time."

The more Hugo talked, Ron could tell he'd figured out the mystery that her parents couldn't. He knew Hermione was the thing they'd been searching for. He realised then they'd never really told the young man who they were. When he'd inquired back in Brisbane, Hermione had vaguely responded that they were family. Whether that meant their offspring or their long-lost cousins, Hugo had never asked for further clarification. He seemed perfectly willing to accept things on blind faith. It was more than he could say for either him or Hermione. Ron wondered if he'd already known back in Brisbane that she was their daughter. The revelation certainly didn't make the story any less strange. If anything, the fact that two parents had somehow lost and forgotten their daughter's identity, should make him more wary. Yet he'd invited them along with probably less concern than they'd had toward him.

Hugo gave a small nod of the head back to Ron then, an assurance and a promise, Ron knew, that he'd maintain the facade Hermione still seemed to need.

"Right, now who's up for more Vegemite?"

The campfire was Hugo's idea. He proposed it while they still had daylight and were stocking up on provisions. While it had been a fun day on the road with plenty of laughter and playful teasing, Ron knew Hermione was no more eager than he was to go camping and relive the last year they'd spent huddled around a fire. Sleeping in the tent was enough of a reminder and he could tell she had been hoping to stay at the proper motel they were told was 90 miles west in Balladonia.

But they continued driving past the tiny motel and instead pulled over at a free campsite further down the highway. Hermione was cheered only when Hugo reminded her that going past the motel meant they would be that much closer to Perth when they awoke tomorrow.

"Come on!" he urged. 'It's our last day in the bush! We've gotta camp out in the Nullarbor. We'll drink hot whiskey and cook out on the fire! It'll be fun!"

"Hot whiskey?"

"Or you can toast your crumpets or whatever you lot like. It'll be fun! Look, this spot looks good." He pointed enthusiastically to a ring of stones and some charred earth where somebody else had clearly made a fire already.

There was something hauntingly familiar about it all, finding a place to put the tent and collecting wood for the fire, but Hugo's enthusiasm was contagious and Ron pressed his lips against Hermione's temple.

"We'll make better memories, eh?" he murmured.

Though Hugo couldn't know the depth of Ron's words, he liked the insinuation that he would be a part of happier memories and smiled broadly when Hermione finally stopped protesting. He quickly disappeared to go collect kindling, and once he was out of earshot, Hermione cast a nonverbal Incendio charm and settled on the ground in front of Ron. She tucked in comfortably between his knees, leaning against his chest while his arms enveloped her. The heat from the fire warmed both their faces and it reminded him of the way they had watched the fireworks after Fred's funeral.

"This is like deja vu, isn't it?" she remarked, looking into the flames that danced in front of them.

"I suppose." Her words pulled him away from the muddled memory of fireworks and tears and kissing Hermione. "Except we didn't do this all year," he murmured against her neck.

"No, we definitely didn't," she laughed, craning her head around to kiss him.

"Would have been a lot better if we had," he teased.

"Would you still have left?" She edged away from him suddenly, breaking off the kiss. The question caught him off guard and his hands fell away from her. She sounded curious and not at all like she was trying to guilt him, but he still felt himself grow queasy. "If we'd been together - really together - would you still have left?"

He could tell from the manner she pressed him that silence would not deflect her inquiries. This was the stuff they needed to talk about after all. The stuff he had just said that morning they both needed to stop hiding from.

"I dunno," he finally mumbled. "Probably."

"Really?"

"If I was wearing the Horcrux, I probably still would have, yeah," he admitted, wishing she would stop looking at him. "I mean it - I think it - I know it wanted me to leave you. And even though that was the last thing I really wanted, it's like I couldn't...fight it," he muttered shamefully.

"Well, it was Voldemort. You were fighting Voldemort." Her words sounded oddly sympathetic, almost like she was defending him.

"We were all fighting him," Ron remarked glumly. "I'm just the only one who failed."

"You didn't fail."

"I left."

"But you came back."

"But I left," Ron repeated.

"But you came back," she reiterated. Her words reminded him of the way she'd lied to Ginny back at the Burrow when they were retelling the story of the last year.

"You shouldn't forgive me," he blurted out, staring past her and into the fire, reliving that terrible rainy night where he'd ignored her cries for him to return, which he now realised were hauntingly familiar to her pleas last night.

"You shouldn't tell me what to do," she challenged.

"I'm serious."

"You need to forgive yourself, Ron."

He wondered if she knew it wasn't just his desertion that ate away at him. It was the bandage beneath his hand and how he'd failed to protect her. It was all the people they hadn't saved, the Muggles they'd probably led to their deaths at the Ministry and all the lives he'd seen extinguished. It was his brother in the ground and the family he'd left. He thought again about the promise they'd made to each that morning by the Nundroo Roadhouse to finally talk about it all. Silence reigned for a few minutes, but then he cleared his throat and found his voice.

"Do you ever just think about all the fucked up stuff we had to do?" he finally admitted.

"What stuff?" He couldn't tell if her words were an attempt to play dumb or more likely a reminder that they'd done so many ridiculous things in the last seven years that he needed to be more specific.

"Everything," he sighed. "I used to think it was all just so cool, all the things we did with Harry, but it was - so much of it was - "

"It's what we had to do," she cut him off tersely and he could feel her body grow tense against him.

"It was fucked up," he muttered. "All that stuff we did when we were just kids."

"Ron - "

"How many times have we all almost died?" he pressed. "We could go all the way back to - to you and the troll and that bloody chess set and I thought it was all...just a great big adventure." He looked into the flames and thought briefly of the fiendfyre that had licked at their broomstick and nearly burnt them alive. "But it's just...mental when I think about it all now, everything we did."

"We did what we had to do," she repeated the phrase mechanically.

"Do you ever think about it?" he pressed, thinking about how she'd been petrified, cursed, tortured and nearly fed to a werewolf.

"I try not to."

"But do you ever?" He was annoyed at her avoidance of the question.

"I try to think about...all the good it brought," she stated in the same mechanical fashion. "We made a better world," she stated firmly, but Ron could see she looked like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. He knew what she said was true, of course. The First Years that boarded the Hogwarts Express this September wouldn't have to live in a world with the same evils they had. There would be no looming threat of Voldemort's return and no monsters like Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"But our lives got worse," he muttered, looking to where the flames from the fire lit up her scarred arms.

"We made it better." She pulled his arms around her tighter.

"Do you think I was right to kill him? Greyback?"

"Yes." Hermione didn't even hesitate.

"You don't think I should have let him go to trial or anything?"

"No."

"But then he'd - "

"He was a monster," she stated the words with a decisive edge to her voice.

"What about that guy in Diagon Alley?" Ron blurted out. "He wasn't a monster."

"What guy?"

"Last month. That guy that came at you when you looked like...like her," Ron couldn't even make himself speak her torturer's name. The memory remained as clear as if it were yesterday, the desperate man who had lunged for Hermione, thinking she'd harmed his children. It had just been instinct. "He didn't get up," Ron muttered, wincing at the recollection of the way he'd slumped against the wall after Ron's violent Stunning Spell.

"Why are you thinking about that?" she frowned.

"He was just looking for his kids." Ron ignored her as he recalled the bloody bandage over the man's one eye and the desperate way he'd attempted to take on Bellatrix Lestrange with his bare hands.

"He probably would have killed me if you hadn't done anything." She spoke about her own possible demise so calmly it made Ron sick.

"Yeah, but do you think I killed him?"

"You saved my life."

"But do you think I killed him?" he repeated with a slight edge and Hermione moved closer to him, likely detecting the guilt and frustration in his voice.

"You saved me."

"I didn't," he muttered then, his eyes instinctively turning to her scarred arm. "Not when it mattered."

"Ron - "

"How in the hell did you get that started?" Hugo appeared suddenly, his arms filled with kindling that he immediately dropped to the ground when he saw the roaring fire in front of them.

"I told you, we spent a lot of time camping this year," Hermione informed flippantly, still frowning over Ron's confession.

"I guess so!"

"Can we have a minute - " she asked, turning toward Ron, but Hugo just gave a dismissive laugh.

"Nah, you've got all night to do that," Hugo teased, misinterpreting her words. "This is the only chance you'll ever have to go bush camping!"

Bush camping, it turned out, was a lot like regular camping, only with an apparent constant threat of dingoes that might appear to steal their food. The new memories they made mostly involved stealing kisses when Hugo wasn't looking and toasting ham and cheese sandwiches over the fire.

"So what're you gonna do in Perth?" Ron asked innocently, curious to learn how Hugo constantly adapted and made a life for himself in all these new places.

"Dunno. Try to find my mates, I guess. They live by the beach, I think." Though he didn't know the layout of Perth all that well, Ron was quite sure knowing they lived by the beach likely didn't narrow it down much. "See if I can't find a place to crash and get some work." He gave a simple shrug, speaking in a manner that indicated he'd certainly done it a time or two before.

"What kind of work?" Ron pressed.

"Whatever I can get, I reckon. I'm not picky"

"Do you want to help us look for David and Emily?" he inquired suddenly, surprising Hermione with the inquiry as much as Hugo.

"I - I should probably find my mates first," Hugo stammered, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"We could use the help," Ron offered. "I mean all we've got is that postcard, right?"

"Well, we could use the postal code to narrow it down a bit," Hermione chimed in.

"Y-yeah, I reckon so. Sure." He sounded less enthusiastic than Ron imagined he would and quickly went about finding something else to toast over the fire.

They toasted everything they could - from the apples and biscuits to the sausages and already smoked jerky - laughing and talking innocently by the flames.

Hermione was the first one to fall asleep. Tucked between Ron's legs and asleep against his chest, she looked serene as always in the combination of moon and firelight. Hugo kept his teasing comments to himself as Ron rocked her gently to the left to readjust his position.

"What did you mean the other day - about your brother - you know, getting away?" Ron asked suddenly. Both boys had been staring silently into the flames for a while now.

Ron saw Hugo wince slightly as he twisted the roasting stick in his hands over the fire. There was nothing at the end of the stick, but Hugo seemed to enjoy watching it blacken.

"He just sort of...got away," he repeated the vague phrase. Then clearly seeing Ron's unsatisfied expression, he continued. "In the system -" His words were halted and slow, for what seemed like the first time in four days. " - you age out when you turn sixteen."

Ron had already pieced together Hugo didn't have much of a family, but this was the most he'd said about his upbringing. Still, it took him a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

"Oh, my best mate's an orphan," Ron blurted out tactlessly trying to relate.

"Yeah? Harry, right?"

"Yeah."

"It's not fun," Hugo muttered then. It was the first negative thing Ron had ever heard him say about anything. "Brandon was a complete arse too." He gave an odd laugh then. "We weren't always together, y'know, in the foster homes, but when we were, man, he would torment me." Ron could tell as he spoke it was likely the first time he'd thought about his brother in a long time. "Even when we were really little he'd make up these foul things and force me to eat them all time. Peanut butter and mustard and onions.

"Toothpaste," Ron actually laughed then, recalling all too familiar incidents with his big brothers. "Fred always liked to use toothpaste."

"Sounds about right," Hugo smiled. "He could get me to do anything though, even jump out of a window. Told me one time if I took an umbrella I'd just float down like Mary effing Poppins."

Though he didn't understand the reference, the situation was all too familiar.

"Anti-gravity potion." Ron smirked, recalling when he'd jumped off the roof and broken his arm in three places thanks to Fred's promise that he'd float down.

"I'll bet it had toothpaste in it."

"Of course." They both shared a laugh then and Hugo passed Ron the hot whiskey he'd been drinking. Hesitantly, Ron took a swallow, knowing Hermione would be irate at him after his last two encounters with spirits. She was fast asleep against him though and one drink surely would do little more than warm him from the chilly night air.

"I knew he'd be leaving once his birthday hit, but he didn't wait," Hugo muttered then, continuing to talk about his brother. Ron could detect more than a hint of resentment behind his usually bright eyes. "He didn't say goodbye or nothin' either. Just left." He pulled the roasting stick out of the fire now and began digging in the dirt with it.

"Have you seen him since?" Ron gulped, not really wanting to know the answer. Fortunately, Hugo didn't seem to want to answer either.

"He ever beat you up?" he asked instead, looking to Ron. "The brother that made you do all that stuff?"

"Fred?" Ron thought about how many poundings he'd gotten from all his older brothers over the years. It was Fred and George that used to wail on him the most when their mum wasn't looking. "Yeah, all the time."

"Everyone was afraid of Brandon. He could be a bit scary," Hugo remarked. Ron assumed everyone meant the other orphans and he shifted uncomfortably and took another swig of the whiskey. "I got him one time. About a month before he left. He accused me of stealin' his fags and just laid into me even though he knew I don't even smoke." He actually grinned at the memory. "He broke my fuckin' tooth - " Hugo pointed to his chipped front tooth. " - but I got him good too. That's the last time I really remember bein' with him."

"Fred could be a wanker sometimes," Ron admitted then, not sure of what else to say. He couldn't help but think about how everyone spoke about Fred at his funeral and how they would probably roast him on a pyre for suggesting the young man they all memorialized at the funeral even had flaws.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, I mean a real tosser," Ron insisted. "He played dirty." Ron thought about how he'd been the one who wanted to blackmail Bagman back in fourth year and how he'd put Montague in that Vanishing cabinet. Sometimes he thought he really meant to kill him he hated Montague so much.

"Brandon too," Hugo agreed. "But sometimes, you know, I wonder how I would have turned out without him."

Both boys stared into the fire, watching it crackle and pop.

"You would have liked him. Fred." It was the first time Ron had ever referred to him in the past tense.

"You gonna see him when you get back home?" Hugo proposed brightly.

"No." Ron spoke only after a long pause. "He um. He's gone." Hugo looked to him quizzically at the vague expression, not unlike the one he'd used when talking about his own brother. "Not gone. Dead." Ron corrected. "He's dead." He realised as the word slipped from his tongue that it was the first time he'd actually said it aloud in the last three weeks. Of all things, he actually gave a crooked smile. "My brother's dead." Oddly enough, the more he said it the better he felt. Hugo didn't flinch at the words. He didn't gaze up at Ron or stammer over an apology, he just looked to the embers of the fire and continued to toy with the stick in his hands.

"Do you miss him?" He finally asked frankly.

"Yeah," Ron admitted without hesitation. "He's only been gone like three weeks and I don't see him that much during the year to be honest, but I miss...knowing he's there. Just knowing he'll be there to take the piss when I come home."

"I get that." Hugo nodded.

"Do you miss your brother?" Ron queried.

"Yeah," Hugo admitted softly. "Yeah, I do." The small glowing pieces of wood continued to flicker in the dying fire, but Hugo stopped staring into the fire and got to his feet abruptly. "Think I'll go retire. I'm full as a goog."

"Yeah, okay." Ron peered around to the tent Hugo had helped them set up and then back down to Hermione.

"You go take your missus there and have yourself a night. Tell her we'll be in Perth by tomorrow night."

"How did you know?" Ron asked suddenly before Hugo could walk away. "How'd you know they're her parents?"

Hugo looked down at Hermione then and gave a wistful smile.

"She looks just like them," he spoke simply before departing and retreating to his car.

Ron looked down to Hermione then, an odd feeling coursing through him with the realisation that Hugo knew the Grangers better than even he did. They were strangers to him really. He didn't know which one she got her hair from or her fair skin or insatiable desire to know everything. It felt weird to think Hugo could probably tell him in a heartbeat. He stared into the fire for a while longer, thinking about her parents and his brother and all the families that had been rent apart this year. For some reason, he found himself thinking about Theodore Nott, likely murdered by his own father after returning to fight for Hogwarts.

"Hermione," he whispered then, nudging her gently in an attempt to wake her. "Hey, wake up." He tried again to rouse her and this time she shifted slightly against him.

"What is it?"

"Do you know why Theodore Nott came back?"

"What?" She looked unamused by the random question as she rubbed her eyes.

"During the Battle, do you know why he came back that morning with Slughorn?"

"No." Her throat was scratchy and he couldn't shake the fact that she sounded slightly perturbed that he'd awoken her for such a random question. "Why?"

"Just...curious."

"Is Hugo gone?" She looked around, likely realising that he'd just spoken out loud about a battle.

"Yeah, yeah. He went to the car." He nodded in the direction of the Calibra.

"Why are you sitting out here by yourself?" She gathered herself and looked to him now with slightly clearer, if not troubled, eyes.

"Just thinking."

"Let's go to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Why are you thinking about Theodore Nott?"

"I dunno." Ron wasn't entirely sure how his train of thought had led to the weedy Slytherin boy.

"What were you talking about with Hugo?" she frowned.

"Fred." The lone syllable was all Ron could make out. Suddenly, it was three weeks ago at the Burrow and he could see she didn't know how to response. "Let's go to bed," he stated simply, rising to his feet.

"Okay." She looked unsure as she took his hand, but followed him inside. Their clothes smelled like smoke, but they did little more than wordlessly kick off their shoes and assume their usual position against each other atop the bags. He wondered how many more nights they would have together like this. He wouldn't be sad to leave the hard lumpy ground or these sleeping bags that never quite seemed to keep out the cold, but he loved the world they'd created in Australia. He thought about how the morning had started, lying with their backs to each other and hardly saying a word. They worked through things now. They talked about them.

His hand ran over her scarred forearm in a purposeful way he knew she could detect, even fingering the bandage he usually took care to avoid.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop her," he muttered against her, his hand pressing against the bandage, tracing the letters he knew lay beneath it. The words were the first he'd ever spoken of his own involvement - or lack thereof - in her rescue.

"You did stop her," she assured.

"It wasn't me. It was Dobby," he dismissed, thoroughly disgusted with himself for not being as clever as the house elf.

"No, it was you," she admitted and her voice quickly lost that obliging tone. She turned over to face him then. "I could hear you. When I...you know, when she.." Each time she tried to speak her voice seemed to fail her. "I could hear you." She set her jaw in that steely resolute way he usually loved and looked him square in the eye. While they'd alluded to her torture a handful of times now, they'd never so much as mentioned his hysterical response down in the cellar, how he'd been so unhinged he'd even tried to Apparate without a wand. He had wanted her to hear him, of course, at the time. That's why he had screamed. He wanted her to know he was there and he was fighting and he wouldn't leave her. "It's why I called for you." They were back in the South Bank Hotel then the morning he'd first told her about her nighttime murmurings. She hadn't been ready to talk about it then, but things had changed. They'd changed in Australia. "I could hear you and I wanted you to know it," she repeated more firmly this time. "But when I said your name it just made it…worse," she continued. Ron was the one whose jaw was now clinched in fierce resolve, trying not to picture what Hermione was describing. "I thought then…when she took out the knife I thought….I thought that I…." Her speech was halted and she couldn't make herself say the words outright, but Ron knew what she was going to say. And he knew then with full confidence what he'd long suspected the murmuring in her sleep was about.

It was the moment she had thought she was going to die.

She relived it every night.

"You saved me." Her voice broke.

"But I didn't," he muttered through gritted teeth, unable to tear his eyes from her scarred forearm. He wondered if it would look like that forever.

"It's not your fault," she insisted. His glassy eyes were still fixed on her arm and he knew she could tell he didn't believe her. So she did what he'd been wanting to do for weeks now.

She took off the bandage.

She didn't remove it tentatively like that morning in the South Bank Hotel nor did she methodically unwrap it from her arm like before they'd first had sex. She jerked it off in a hurry like she suddenly couldn't wait to be rid of it. It weighed them both down and she knew it.

"They're just scars," she repeated the words he'd uttered to her in comfort so many times. And for the first time, he could finally see she was starting to believe it.


	41. Chapter 41

After ten days sleeping beside her, he had grown used to being woken up by her murmuring his name. So he reached out for her in comfort, but instead of nestling closer to him, she just kept calling his name, each time louder and more annoyed than the last.

"What?" he finally asked with equal annoyance.

"What do you want?" she griped.

"What do YOU want?" he replied in turn without opening his eyes.

"You said my name."

"I didn't say your name."

"Yes, you did. I heard my name."

"I was asleep, Hermione," he maintained, finally opening his eyes and staring across at her.

"Well, you said my name," she insisted.

"Well, maybe you were dreaming," he challenged.

"No, I was already awake and I heard my name sound right in my ear."

"Well, I didn't say it." They stared at each other a moment and Ron tried to figure out how to kindly suggest that perhaps she had heard it in her own head. Then it dawned on him and he shoved her off the pillow urgently.

"Ron!" she shrieked at the forceful way he displaced her. "What are you - "

But then he was holding the Deluminator aloft and the words died in her throat.

She hadn't imagined her name. It had worked.

They both stared at the tiny silver instrument clutched in his hand and struggled silently for words.

"But - it can't - I mean - "

"It worked," Ron laughed. "It actually worked."

"But it couldn't. They don't know I exist and besides it's - " She grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch. " - four in the morning! Why would they say my name at four in the morning?"

"Maybe they're reading Shakespeare," he repeated the same thing he had when he'd first given the Deluminator to her on the steps of her parents house.

"Mum does get up and read sometimes when she can't sleep."

"Go and click it!" he ordered.

"What?"

"That's what you have to do! You have to click it," he instructed and he was quickly taken back to a lonely night outside his brother's cottage. "Click it." He pressed it into her hand and he could tell from the look in her eye she too was thinking about the night he'd described to her.

The ball of light looked different from the one that had appeared before him. It was smaller and softer somehow, not nearly as bright as the light when he'd heard Hermione's voice. It was almost surreal to observe it happen to someone else, to watch the ball of light fly to the space between her breasts where he put his hand when they went to sleep.

Her eyes were wide, frightened almost, and she looked to Ron for guidance.

"And now it takes you to them," he stated simply with a smile, hardly believing it had worked.

"So we Disapparate?" Hermione asked, still staring down at her chest with wonder.

"Yeah," Ron laughed, but then caught himself. "But wait - no, what about Hugo? We can't just leave him out here in the middle of nowhere."

"We can leave a note."

"Hermione, we can't just leave him," he insisted.

"Let's wake him up and get him then!" She was still staring down her shirt and Ron knew well the feeling surging through her, the urgency she felt. The warm feeling that what she wanted most right now was near and the light inside her would take her to them.

"It's four in the morning," he reminded.

"Ron!"

"Let's just give him a couple hours, eh?" Ron tried to reason.

"What am I supposed to just sit here with this...like in me for two hours?" She looked uneasy at the thought. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know." Ron lay back down, wrapping his hands behind his head and she reluctantly followed suit. "I mean...I do know something we can do for two hours," he proposed with a suggestive raise of the eyebrows.

"Two hours?" Hermione laughed. "Right."

"What?" Ron grumbled. "We could do it for two hours." She didn't respond and Ron could tell she looked unconvinced. "You don't think we could do it for two hours?"

"Considering that three separate times still didn't come close to one hour, no," she pointed out.

"Well, that's because...you know, it was...new," Ron defended. "It was just new."

"How many times makes it not new?" There was definitely a smile curving on her face now.

"I don't know, like...four." Ron moved a hand to her stomach then and the grin on her face grew wider.

"How convenient." She just nodded her head. "Still, I think we need to practice just a bit more before we can do it for two hours."

"Practice?" He looked to her and made no attempt to stifle his own smile now.

"Well, that's what those three times were, right? Just practice?"

"Yeah, yeah, they were just practice," Ron murmured in assurance, loving that there was levity now where there had been anger and tears.

"And practice makes perfect," she grinned and kissed him once softly, but when his hands traveled down her body, she quickly stopped him. "But I'm not practicing right now."

"Why not?"

"Because all I can think about right now is..." She clutched her chest, reminding him of the light resting inside her now. He relented, knowing the feeling coursing through her. When the ball of light had gone into him he'd been able to think about little else but her, how she was, what she'd been doing, how she would react, what she would say. What he would say.

"Why don't you tell me about them, then?" he dared ask.

"Who?" Hermione laughed.

"Your parents," he stated simply. "Tell me about them." It was something he'd wanted to ask for weeks now in Australia, but had been afraid to do. Now they were here, one step from finding them and wanted to know them the way Hugo did. He wanted to know if her mum cooked Sunday roast and her dad took walks along the river.

"What do you want to know about?" She replied stiffly.

"I don't know. You just - " He paused and licked his lips, knowing he was treading on delicate ground. "You never talk about them."

"You don't talk about your parents," she pointed out logically.

"Because you know my parents," he shrugged.

"What do you want to know?" Ron tried to ignore the irritation he suddenly detected in her voice.

"Does your mum like to cook?" He asked innocently.

"I guess," she replied stiffly.

"Look, we don't have to talk about them if you don't want," he backed down, sensing her hesitation. "I just thought…" His voice drifted away and then for a long time neither spoke. They both just lay there and stared up at the canvas, waiting for a bit of light to appear that meant they could awaken Hugo and finish their journey.

"The truth is...ever since I got my letter I feel like there's a part of my life my parents will never know," she admitted finally. "And even if I do, you know, get them back." She clutched her chest and he could see the tears quickly form in her eyes with the realisation that they were close now to doing just that. "I could never tell them about this." Her scarred arm flew upward, the ugly purple letters stood out clearly against her pale skin. "Not any of it." When he took her hand then, he could feel it tighten and grow clammy. He knew she was talking about the stuff he'd brought up last night, all the stuff she said she tried not to think about. "But then...I can't - I don't want to lie to them anymore," she sputtered. "And I don't know what to do." She blew out a shaky breath as she spoke the words. "I never...thought this far ahead." Ron recalled her confession then back in Brisbane about how she'd tried to prepare herself for the possibility that she wouldn't be able to locate them and would be an orphan the rest of her life.

"Well, you don't have to tell them everything." He brushed her hand with his thumb softly, playfully reminding her that some things were best left a secret. "And you don't have to tell them in one day," he continued. It was an awful lot to reveal. They'd shared enough dangerous adventures the last seven years to fill several books. She had every reason to be fearful, but he also knew she could ease them into this new reality. He could see she looked doubtful despite his suggestion. "You can wear longsleeves when you first see them," he suggested, wrapping his fingers around her arm gently.

"I think about it all the time." Her voice sounded small.

"Of course you do," he spoke obligingly.

"No,I mean all the time." The look in her eyes and flush of her cheeks indicated just when she was talking about. "I think that's part of why I don't...you know…"

"You think about your parents when we have sex?" He couldn't help himself from blanching at the thought.

"Not like…I mean, I just - " she stammered. "I think about what they'd think."

"While I'm inside you?" She looked to his gaping expression then and gave an embarrassed laugh, attempting to wrench her hand away, but he refused to let her break away. "It's no wonder you never relax!" he sputtered teasingly, mostly just because he loved that they could laugh about it, even if her cheeks did turn a furious shade of pink.

"I just feel guilty," she admitted. There was that damned word again.

"Because you're having fun and living your life and….moving on without them?" Ron spoke feelings that were all too familiar.

"And because I broke a promise to my mum."

"How do you mean?"

"I just...I promised my mum - ."

"Oi, this isn't about the bloody condoms, is it? Why don't you just let me effing wear them?"

"Because it's pointless!" she sounded much more agitated than he anticipated about something that seemed so trivial in the grand scheme of things. "It's pointless and redundant! Because I'm a witch and you're a wizard and we - we don't use condoms!"

"Right…" Ron spoke slowly, sensing at last this was about much more than a conversation about contraceptives and breaking a promise to her mum.

"We have charms that do the same thing and work much better and - and our world is different," she sputtered. "My world will always be different from my parents' and - "

"- and that's just how it is," Ron finished for her and gave a shrug. "You need to stop feeling guilty about it."

"But they'll never forgive me for using magic on them! I know they won't!"

There it was.

There was the root of everything. The words she'd confessed days ago that they'd both conveniently ignored sometime when her knickers had come off.

"You saved their lives." He spoke forcefully and tightened his hand around hers.

"I brainwashed them." She wasn't looking at him.

"You saved their lives. You have to know that."

Her breaths were shallow and hurried and for a moment he worried she was going to come apart like she had on the steps at Highgate Hill. He knew then that's what the collapse had been about. It wasn't simply the fact that she couldn't find her parents. It was the fact that she'd been the one who lost them.

"You saved them." He wondered how many times he'd have to repeat it for her to believe it herself.

"What if they never forgive me?" she creaked.

"You saved them."

His long fingers spread across her back as he felt her take several deep, steadying breaths. It was a funny thing, guilt. The irrational way it could take hold of you, making you confident of things nobody else could believe. She'd dismissed his own guilt last night and torn the bandage off in a fit to prove to him there was nothing to apologise for; that maybe she wasn't okay yet, but she wouldn't let the scars haunt her anymore.

Yet she couldn't let go of the same thing herself. He wondered what symbolic gesture her parents could possibly extend that would deliver the same message. Deep down, he wondered if there wasn't a hint of truth to Hermione's fears. He was certainly the last person to know her parents well enough to predict their actions. For a moment, he thought about asking Hugo what he thought, but then remembered Hugo was just a Muggle.

He was just a Muggle who had heard about dragons and trolls and potions and Quidditch. Yet Hugo hadn't asked a single question to clarify anything. Not any of the ridiculous stuff they'd stupidly let slip fighting yesterday morning and certainly not the mysterious circumstances surrounding two people who had somehow forgotten their own identities and only daughter.

"I think we should tell Hugo," he murmured then in an abrupt change of subject.

"Tell Hugo what?" Hermione frowned.

"Everything," Ron blurted out.

"We can't tell him anything, Ron," Hermione chided.

"Why not?" He wasn't sure why he wanted the young man to know the truth, he only knew he didn't like lying to him.

"Because it's against the law!" she laughed. "There's an International Statute of Secrecy for a reason. You read the Code of Secrecy!" she reminded.

"Yeah, and it was put in place to protect the magical community. Hugo's no threat!"

"He's still a Muggle."

"He's different, Hermione. You know he wouldn't tell a soul."

"You tell him and you Obliviate him." Her firm insistence on following the law reminded Ron of their first year when she'd been so hell bent on abiding by every Hogwarts rule. "We'll probably have to alter his memory anyway when we get to Perth."

"No, we're not!" Ron cried, unsure why the notion made him feel so uneasy, but feeling suddenly protective to Hugo.

"It'll be for his own good," Hermione spoke kindly. "Honestly, people don't need to think he's any stranger."

"We can't Obliviate him," he spoke calmer now. "Hermione, that's not fair."

"I don't know what else to do." The helplessness in her voice reminded Ron of the way it had sounded when she'd collapsed in his arms last summer after performing the charm on her parents. He vividly recalled that moment when she realised she was an orphan as much as Harry was and it was all of her own making. Finally, he could understand at least a small part of her struggle. He felt sick at the mere thought of messing with Hugo's mind and could hardly imagine trying to weigh the options with his own mum and dad.

"You don't think he could be a Squib, do you?" Ron grasped at the only hope they really had. The look on Hermione's face answered his desperate query.

"If he asks questions, we have to do a memory charm," she returned to the issue at hand.

"Okay," Ron relented, knowing better than to argue about magical law with Hermione. "But I'll do it." He wasn't entirely sure how to do such a complex memory charm, one that required rewriting more than just a few minutes of time, but he knew he wanted to save Hermione from having to do the charm again. He recalled the pained expression simply from Confunding the ticket agent in Dijon or the crooked Bulgarian taxi driver. He didn't want to do it, but he didn't want to make her do it either and she'd come first. Ron was starting to realise she'd always come first now.

He shifted positions and moved his hand to the place in her chest where the light had gone.

"So your mum and dad…think they'll want to chop my bollocks off when they find out about us?" He hoped the positive way he spoke about finding her parents would lift the heavy mood. She laughed against him and the comfortable maneuvering that took place next as she adjusted her position made his head spin at how much had changed between them in such a short trip. He wondered what they'd have done without Australia.

"They like you," she assured.

"They liked me," Ron clarified dryly.

"They'll still like you." He wasn't sure whether it was the intimate position or the warm light residing in her chest that made her speak so hopefully, but he loved finally hearing it. She hugged him tightly and smiled.

They talked about her parents nearly the entire morning. Ron learned every place they'd ever gone on holiday and where they'd gone to university. He learned about her grandparents and what her mum made for Christmas dinner and the more she talked, the more she seemed to smile. He knew it was probably the first time she'd allowed herself to think about them like this in an entire year.

Hugo seemed to sense the urgency surging through them both and didn't ask questions when they woke him up by rapping loudly on the window of his car at sunrise. Without even changing his clothes, he rubbed his eyes groggily, informed them he'd be stopping for coffee as soon as possible and started up the vehicle. It was nearly two hours until the first opportunity to get Hugo fully caffeinated and while he didn't complain, he didn't seem entirely awake for most of those two hours either.

Hermione's knees bounced up and down in the backseat with nervous anticipation while Hugo informed them it would only be about eight hours to Perth now. She was leafing through the map they'd purchased back in South Australia. The inset of Perth wasn't very large or detailed, but she had her nose pressed to the paper and was studying it like it was her Ancient Runes book. When Ron asked to look he could see the city was, much like Brisbane, positioned on the coast beside a winding river. Hermione was chewing on her lip as she studied each section of the city carefully.

"So we can use the postal code to narrow down what neighborhood they mailed it from and I'd wager they'll try to be as close to the river as possible. No more than a ten minute walk probably." She took her thumb and forefinger and began measuring a search radius. Ron smiled at the sight. She had a plan. Her brain was working. She was back.

When they finally got off the 1,000 mile Eyre Highway and began traveling north instead of west, her excitement became contagious. She was smiling in a manner he usually only saw when they were alone together. The scenery wasn't much different on this stretch of the drive, but the atmosphere inside the Calibra was the most energetic it had been. Trees now dotted the bleak red landscape and they even passed a quaint little town called Coolgardie where they stopped briefly for sandwiches, petrol, and yet more coffee for Hugo.

"I can feel it," she whispered, gripping Ron's sides eagerly while they stood outside the car waiting for the tank to fill. "That we're moving closer. I can feel it inside me."

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He smiled, reminding her that he knew the feeling well. She hugged him fiercely then, clutching onto his sleeve the way she used to when they met on Platform 9 ¾ for a new year at Hogwarts, every part of her quivering with nervous anticipation.

They had pulled ten and twelve hours in the car before, but somehow Ron knew these six remaining hours would be the ones that crawled by the slowest. He stuck his hand out the open window and moved it up and down in undulating waves while the wind whipped through his hair. If he closed his eyes it felt almost like riding on a broom. He missed his broom, he realised. He missed the feeling of a carefree fly on a late summer afternoon.

He'd lost track of the days and wasn't sure if it was even still May. Weeks that felt like months had passed since they'd departed the Burrow. That meant it had been even longer since his brother had died. Ron wondered how so much could happen in just one month.

Hugo didn't reference the heavy conversation from last night about their lost brothers. While he seemed to enjoy the much lighter mood inside the car, the jovial conversation and excitement about reaching Perth, Ron couldn't shake the feeling that he seemed preoccupied somehow.

"So are you going to find a hotel first?" Hugo asked them tentatively. Hermione and Ron exchanged a look that indicated they hadn't really thought that much about it. If they located the Grangers that evening and Hermione reversed the spell, Ron realised he might very well be spending tonight alone in a hotel.

"I dunno. I reckon we'll try to find David and Emily first. What will you do?" Ron had already asked the question numerous times on the trip and knew Hugo's standard answer, but now that they were getting so close he wondered if Hugo had something more concrete than just to find his mates by the beach.

"Check out the city. Look up my mates," he dismissed like always.

"Are you still going to help us look for David and Emily?" Ron inquired, glancing behind to Hermione, who was still clutching her chest. He found himself suddenly wishing they hadn't invited Hugo to take part in what would now be a fairly simple search with the Deluminator assisting them.

"Yeah. Yeah, I will. I just…" Hugo licked his lips and swallowed loudly in a nervous manner Ron had never seen before. The young man was always so relaxed. "It's just I - I have to..there's something I have to tell you." Ron's mind whirled for a moment, imagining what could possibly make the carefree young man suddenly sound so serious. He was a Squib. Ron hoped against hope that that was the news Hugo had to share. He was a Squib. He was a Squib. "And you've got to promise you won't get angry."

"Angry?" Hermione inquired from the backseat then, her attention as piqued as Ron's now.

"I should have told you last night...I should have told you back in Brisbane, but I just...I knew if I told you before that...I knew you wouldn't...if I told you, I knew - "

"Told us what?" Hermione pressed.

"I know their address."

The words seemed to echo throughout the car.

"David and Emily, I have their address in Perth," he clarified like he was afraid they had somehow misheard him and that was the reason for their understated reactions. Had her name not sounded from the Deluminator that morning, Ron knew they would have reacted to the revelation differently, but neither he nor Hermione flinched. "And I know I should have told you back in Brisbane, I know I should have, but I knew you wouldn't come with me then and I - I - " Hugo stammered for an explanation, but couldn't finish. He kept his shameful eyes ahead on the road, unable to even glance over at Ron or catch Hermione's gaze in the mirror.

Ron knew he should be angry. He tried to imagine how he would feel if the Deluminator had not worked that morning and they were facing the prospect of aimlessly wandering the streets of yet another Australian city. But the anger wouldn't come. Hugo had just wanted companionship on this long and lonely drive. And they'd needed this trip, him and Hermione. They'd needed Hugo.

"What is it?" Hermione spoke first to break the silence. "The address?"

"Somerset," he revealed and Ron saw Hermione's eyes light up at the definite way he spoke. "29 Somerset Way. Don't know where that is exactly, but they wrote me with the address soon as they signed the lease."

"Somerset," Hermione repeated. That's where her parents were. They were at 29 Somerset Way, just 120 miles away according to the last road sign.

Hugo's fingers gripped the steering wheel nervously, likely waiting for an explosion of anger toward him for selfishly keeping such a secret, but the light inside Hermione seemed to push aside any lingering resentment.

"Thank you for telling us," she spoke simply.

"So do you want to go to a library or something to find where exactly that is?" Hugo inquired uncomfortably, still seeming surprised by their calm reactions. "No." She clutched her hand to her chest and looked to Ron. "I think I know where it is."

Hugo didn't bother to ask if she'd seen Somerset on the map or perhaps done some research on her own this morning in the tent. He just seemed grateful they weren't angry with him for keeping this secret until the last day.

More cars began to crowd the highway as the day wore on and they grew closer and closer to Perth. The scenes outside the window began to change. There was some relief from the monotony of the last three days. There were buildings and towns and tall trees now, not just the same rugged brush. They were getting closer. The roads became more congested and the traffic grew denser as a blue roadside sign finally welcomed them to the city of Perth.

"Get in the left lane," Hermione commanded softly then. Both Ron and Hugo exchanged confused looks, but when Ron looked to her and saw both hands clasped over her heart, he realised what it meant. She knew. She knew where to take them.

"But the right one takes us into the city," Hugo stated.

"I know, but they're outside the city." She spoke so confidently Hugo didn't bother arguing.

Ron thought again about their conversation regarding Hugo that morning. He wondered what they would tell him about all this. Not just how Hermione knew exactly how to locate 29 Somerset Way, but everything that would follow after that. There was still all that they had stupidly blurted out yesterday. Hugo hadn't made so much as a mention of what must have sounded like utter nonsense to him - about trolls and spells and potions and Quidditch. Thankfully, he was too busy driving and paying attention to directions in the foreign city to ask any questions now.

"Keep driving," she commanded softly.

"But we're leaving the city."

"It's this way." They continued down the Sterling Highway past laundromats and Caltex stations that were now familiar sights to Ron. Hermione was still clutching her chest again and sitting on the edge of her seat with her face pressed against the back window. They passed a garden and a cinema and Ron knew she was picturing her parents at all the locations. He wondered how close they were.

"Get off here," Hermione spoke then and Hugo obediently exited the busy highway and found himself at an even busier intersection.

"Where do I go now?" As soon as the light changed Hugo had to decide which way he wanted to go and with roads leading in what felt like six different directions and a line of cars behind them, Ron sensed hesitation wouldn't be welcome.

"Just find somewhere to park." Hermione's voice was practically a whisper. Hugo carefully maneuvered the mint green Calibra down a side road, and once away from the busy intersection they looked at the suburb that had somehow drawn her parents. The tree-lined street was a nice change from the dull landscapes that had surrounded them for days, but it hardly looked like Henley-by-the-Thames. The bungalows and awkward angular buildings that reminded Ron of the bizarre library in Brisbane were about as far from her plain brick home on Stuart Avenue as he could imagine.

"Here?"

"Yes. Someplace here."

Ron offered to go look for a more detailed map. He even jokingly suggested they find a library, but she just tightened her grip around his hand and began marching confidently down the street.

Splitting up was Hugo's idea. He seemed eager to give the two of them time alone. He knew they were her parents, after all, even if Hermione wouldn't say it. Ron could see she hardly even heard Hugo and Ron's agreement to meet back at his Calibra in an hour's time. She was in another world, quivering with anticipation, clinging to Ron's hand so tightly he thought she might break a few bones.

They traveled east first, all the way to the banks of the Swan River and Ron thought about walking the Promenade in Brisbane and the pavement along the Thames and how long ago it all seemed. He tried to recall the details of her house in Henley, the white frame around the door and the black tiled roof, hoping to locate one that resembled it just like her parents had described in their postcard, but it seemed highly unlikely amid the red-roofs and tropical fauna. Ivy climbing the walls of anything here seemed as probable as finding a palm tree in the middle of London.

The sun had descended behind the houses and just as Ron began wondering if they would continue their search in the dark, it happened.

"Here it is! Somerset!" He exclaimed, pointing to the yellow street sign excitedly, but Hermione was stopped in her tracks. Ron couldn't have pulled her away even if he'd wanted, she was so firmly rooted to the ground.

"David, hurry up! You know I like to watch the previews!"

When Ron turned to match the voice, he could see Hermione already gazing around the corner at the sight.

There were her parents.

The people he'd never really paid much attention to before when they picked Hermione up at Platform 9 3/4. It was her mum she got her hair from. He could see that now. It wasn't nearly as wild as Hermione's, but he could see a familiar unwieldiness to it. She was waiting impatiently by the Honda Hugo told them they'd leased and barking at her husband to move quicker.

"We'll still make the previews." He heard her dad grumble and fumble for his keys to lock the quaint brick house. His dark hair was combed and parted to the side in a neat and orderly way that somehow reminded him of Hermione and made him smile.

"Did you put food out for Harold?"

"Emily, it's not even our cat!"

Ron listened to the domestic banter with amusement, but his eyes didn't leave Hermione. She seemed to be paralyzed and for a long time he didn't think she so much as took a breath. When he reached for her he felt her wobble on the spot and suddenly come to as if in a trance.

Her hands flew to her face and she began taking in deep breaths through the mask she'd created with her hands, her eyes still fixed on the sight of her parents there, talking to each other on the other side of the street. He didn't have to say anything. All he did was give her a supportive squeeze like he'd done all week.

They found them.


	42. Chapter 42

They remained in front of 29 Somerset Way long after her parents had driven away in the Honda and long after they were supposed to meet Hugo by his car. When Ron quietly suggested they move on, Hermione just shook her head and continued to stare at the house. It was much like her parents had described to Hugo on their postcard: a brick home, like back in Henley, with ivy climbing the side of the garage. It stood out sorely from the other homes in the neighborhood and Ron didn't have to use his imagination to figure out why her parents had been attracted to it. It really was a little bit of England in this beachtime suburb.

"Do you want to wait until they come back?" he asked unsurely. "I can go meet up with Hugo."

"Right. Hugo." Hermione seemed to almost be in a trance.

"You can stay. I can go get him." Ron understood that the sheer fact of seeing where her parents lived and where they had just stood meant something important. He knew she probably wasn't ready to leave just yet.

"It's okay," she dismissed and smiled at him. She wore a hopeful look, one that he couldn't remember seeing on her face all year. He wasn't quite sure what to think at first when she leaned against his chest and started to shake. For a brief moment he thought the sounds emerging from her throat were sobs, but when he wrapped his arms back around her, he realised she was shaking with laughter.

"We did it," she mumbled against him and when he muttered back the words he realised this really was it. This was the last piece. This was the last step to make their lives normal again, or whatever normal would be now. Defeating Voldemort had only been half the fight for Hermione. This had been looming over her all year, but now it was almost over. Her parents were alive and well and she had just seen it with her own eyes.

They took their time wandering back to the car to meet up with Hugo. He was excited to report that the beach was only five minutes from where they'd parked the car. Though he claimed to have been asking pedestrians if they knew where Somerset Way was, his sandy ankles indicated he'd asked only those people he passed while walking along the shoreline. He apologised sheepishly, but Ron could tell by his expression that he had known full well they'd find her parents without him.

"You found them then?" He noted Hermione's broad smile and much calmer demeanor.

"We did."

"You say hello?"

"No. They were going to the movies," Hermione informed.

"Oh," Hugo replied and he looked around then, as unsure as Ron about what exactly they did next.

The whole reason they'd accompanied Hugo to Perth was to find her parents. Now that they'd found them, they didn't really need Hugo anymore. The uncertain look on Hugo's face told Ron he knew that all too well. Noting the way Hermione was clinging to Ron, Hugo took a step backward.

"So I think I'll just get back to the beach then," he mumbled.

"Can we come with you?" Hermione posited, much to Ron's surprise.

"Don't you want to get a hotel so you can go shag each other's brains out?"

"Let's go to the beach." The plain way she spoke with only a slight flush of the cheeks told Ron everything he needed. They had all the time in the world now. She'd seen her parents. Her head was clear.

Hugo was happy to lead them, but Ron knew the young man was wondering the same thing he was. Ron recalled the unresolved conversation with Hermione this morning about Hugo. He didn't want to just leave him, but he didn't want to lie to him, either. Hugo looked distracted too, like he knew his time with them was now limited.

They walked through a bright friendly neighborhood, passing parks with children playing football and neatly manicured lawns, all the while breathing the fresh ocean air that grew stronger with each step. The beach was a surprisingly narrow strip of white sand tucked behind a long row of smooth terraced lawn and playground equipment. The Indian Ocean gleamed and reflected the last lingering colors of daylight, all vibrant shades of orange and red.

"This is beautiful," Hermione affirmed and sucked in a deep breath of the ocean air. While it was a spectacular sight, Ron couldn't help but flinch at the sound of the sea. The water was brighter and the sun was still shining, but he couldn't hear the waves crashing without being reminded of the last time they'd stood on a beach. She hadn't even stood. She'd been unconscious in his arms. His grip on her waist tightened instinctively and he looked to her bare arms. Hermione caught his gaze, but her smile didn't fade.

"It's pretty great, innit?" Hugo agreed, standing triumphantly with his hands on his hips atop the small dune as if he'd created the beach himself.

"It's pretty great," Hermione repeated, finally lowering herself to the sand and pulling her knees to her chest. Ron followed suit. He knew there was probably so much she wanted to say, but Hugo's presence made her censor herself. Still, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe the best thing they could do right now was just sit on the beach, stare out at the ocean and realise they'd made it through.

He felt so far from the end of the war and those first tentative kisses. They'd made it across three continents now. They'd fought and cried and made it through. Things weren't perfect, but he felt a strange confidence now that they'd get there. It felt real, him and Hermione. Their future felt real. Hermione leaned into him, her hand intimately grazing his in a way that indicated she was thinking about much the same thing as he was. Hugo, still on his feet, just shifted uncomfortably.

"I think I'll...go walk." His shifty behaviour had nothing to do with their proximity, Ron knew, and everything to do with the fact that his purpose had been fulfilled. He'd been their ride to Perth to find her parents and now they were here and they'd found them.

"You can sit," Hermione offered, squinting up at Hugo while the wind whipped her hair across her face.

"I'll let you be alone."

"Stay," Hermione spoke now and the quiver in her voice indicated it was more than just a polite offer.

Stiffly, Hugo lowered himself to the sand beside Ron.

"So do you know where you're gonna stay?" Hugo inquired innocently in an attempt for conversation. "I think I saw a hotel or two right here on the beach."

"Thank you." Hermione ignored his words, but spoke directly to him.

"Well, they might not even have a vacancy, but - "

"No, I mean thank you, Hugo." She didn't say anything more to clarify, but her grateful eyes locked on his then and Ron knew the young man knew. He swept his shaggy hair out from behind his eyes and looked out at the softly crashing waves, then back to Hermione's brown eyes. Ron wondered what colour her parents' eyes were. Hugo knew. He could see the young man likely thinking exactly that.

"You're what they've been looking for, aren't you?" He finally remarked in a wistful manner.

There was a slight pause before Hermione swallowed loudly and nodded her head.

There was no celebratory fist pump or declarative 'I told you so'. Hugo just nodded his head in acceptance, knowing what the admission meant. Ron realised then that there had been more than just a selfish desire to enjoy Ron and Hermione's company behind Hugo's withholding the address.

He didn't want them to take her parents away.

Ron realised from the stories he told that the Grangers were the closest he'd ever come to having a family. And now, like apparently everybody else in his life, they too would be leaving. Hermione knew it. Ron could tell behind the excitement that caused her to cling to him the way she was that there was a hint of guilt as well. Maybe that's why she wanted to wipe his memory. Maybe no memory of any of this would be better than losing it all.

"You don't have to tell me, you know," Hugo declared suddenly then, in a manner so knowing Ron couldn't but wonder if he wasn't a Legilimens.

"Tell you what?" Hermione asked. Ron wasn't sure if Hermione was feigning ignorance or else still wrapped up in the memory of her parents standing before her, squabbling about making a movie and feeding the cat.

"You know, about whoever the two of you are." He shrugged simply and Ron could tell this was not a dramatic feint to get them to reveal it to him anyway. This was Hugo just being Hugo. He picked up on more than they knew. "All that stuff about saving the world and fighting trolls and stuff - you don't have to explain none of it. It's okay."

"When - when we said trolls - " Hermione tried to clarify.

"I told you, you don't need to say nothin'!" he laughed. "I learned a long time ago there's a lot that happens in life you can't explain." Ron wondered then if Hugo was referring to the mysterious circumstances surrounding Hermione's parents as much as those that had landed him in an orphanage at five years old. "I figure you can either drive yourself mad tryin' to figure out why shit happens the way it does. Or...you can just accept that it did and keep on movin'. You don't have to explain nothin' to me. Honest."

Ron and Hermione gaped wordlessly at him.

"You don't want to know any of it?" Ron asked incredulously and Hermione widened her eyes and glared at him for suggesting there was anything to know.

"Does it matter?" Hugo gave a slow shrug.

"I...reckon not," Ron spoke in slow disbelief.

He envied Hugo then, not the part of him that lived a vagabond life with no apparent friends or family, but the part that didn't ask questions or live in the past.

"The hotel was that way." Hugo pointed down the beach suddenly, apparently eager to talk about something else.

"Were there any restaurants?" Hermione inquired and Ron's head shot up at the thought of food.

"Maybe a few."

The invitation was implicit. When she stood up she didn't have to invite Hugo. She just clucked at Ron for taking more time than was necessary to wipe the sand off her bum and headed off down the beach.

They had dinner at a small restaurant perched atop a dune, gorging themselves on crab cakes and steak and a basket of bread that never seemed to empty. It was quite a feast after five days of living off Melba Toast and Freddo Frogs. Much like he'd promised, Hugo didn't ask any questions about where the mysterious credit card that paid for the expensive dinner came from. They simply enjoyed the view over the Indian Ocean and Ron tried not to wonder about what dinner tomorrow night might look like.

He'd live like Hugo and just enjoy tonight and this moment. They laughed about their trip across the continent and shared stories about David and Emily. When Hugo inquired about the purple letters on Hermione's arm and asked whether it was a tattoo gone wrong, she'd replied cavalierly that it was just a bit of nonsense and Ron could see that she believed it. He reached for her under the table after she spoke the words and she just squeezed his hand back. He knew then that he could keep driving himself mad every time he looked at the scar trying to figure out how he could have prevented it, or he could just accept that it did and move on like she was trying to do.

Whether it was the darkness, the foreign city, or a subconscious desire not to let the night end, finding Hugo's car after dinner took longer than it ought to have taken. Ron wagered they'd taken the better part of an hour to travel what was likely little more than a half mile due to numerous wrong turns that ended with them back at the beach. Hugo roared with laughter at their ineptitude and threw his arms around both their necks then.

"I'm gonna miss you both, you know that?" he remarked fondly.

"We're not going anywhere yet, mate," Ron dismissed.

"You will though. Now that you've found 'em," he spoke confidently. "And that's okay! I'll be okay." He waved his hand dismissively. "I've just never met two people quite like you before."

"How do you mean?" Hermione inquired softly then. Ron assumed he was talking about the curious circumstances regarding their appearance.

"You're just so...serious."

"I'm not serious!" Ron argued, affronted by the accusation. Nobody had ever used his name and the word 'serious' together in a sentence in his entire life. He wondered if the war had really changed him that much.

"About her you are." Hugo's immediate response silenced him and he saw Hermione blush. Hugo just shook his head and walked around to the driver's side of the car. "And on that note, I reckon I'll let you two get after it."

"Where will you stay?" She frowned at Hugo, appearing as uncomfortable as Ron at the thought of him disappearing into the night in this foreign city.

"I'll be around."

"You should stay with us," Hermione blurted out then.

"With you two? Right!" Hugo snorted. "I'd actually like to get some sleep tonight."

"Not in the same room, you prat." Ron laughed at the insult Hermione hurled and Hugo just shook his head and fell into step alongside them once again.

"At least three doors down," he insisted.

They got Hugo a room one floor above him. Their suite wasn't as large as the one in Brisbane, but the bed was truthfully all Ron saw. It felt surprisingly familiar stepping back into a hotel room. He hadn't been afraid of the receptionist or fumbled when she'd asked if they wanted one bed or two and he'd even been able to work the door lock without Hermione's help. When the door opened he didn't look at the kitchen or the balcony or the bathroom, he just climbed straight atop the bed without even bothering to take off his shoes. He forgot how much he had missed a real mattress, television, and electric lights.

"Oi, I think I'm turning into a Muggle," he remarked with a loud sigh as he kicked off his shoes and flipped through the television channels, waiting for her to join him atop the bed. She was more methodical as she locked the door, untied her shoes and adjusted the thermostat.

"Your father will be so proud," she remarked with a grin at the sight of him working the television. Ron laughed as he watched her collect his shoes and set them neatly the door beside hers.

"We haven't been here two minutes and you're already cleaning the room?"

"We haven't been here two minutes and you've already made a mess!" she chided.

"Come and lie down with me." Ron invited. He'd missed lying on the bed with her. Resting and relaxing together simply because they could. Because they had all the time in the world now.

Climbing atop the bed, Hermione let out a deep contented sigh. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

"Can you believe we found them?"

"I knew we would."

"You knew?" she looked to him disbelievingly, likely thinking about the long hopeless days wandering the streets of Brisbane.

"I believe in you," he stated simply. The words hung in the air a moment until she repositioned herself so she was lying with her head on his chest.

"I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come with me."

"You would have been fine," Ron dismissed, though he shuddered to think what would have happened if he'd listened to his mum and let her go on her own. She might still be sitting on a bench in a rainy Dijon square.

For a long time they just rested like that with her head on his chest like they'd done so many times before. He recalled the first time she'd done it up in Gryffindor tower the morning after the battle when he'd thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Now it felt like the most natural thing in the world to stroke her hair and hear her breathe against him.

"I think I'm going to have a wash," she mumbled against him then.

"Now?" he frowned and wrapped a hand around her in protest, enjoying the intimacy that had been missing the last few days in the Muggle tent.

"We haven't showered for four days." She unpeeled herself from him and rolled off the bed to begin rummaging through the beaded bag for her clothes. A shower would feel good. They'd made do as best they could, but water had been in such short supply in the bush and they'd figured looking too clean would raise suspicion. Ron relented and grabbed the wand that controlled the telly as she disappeared behind the bathroom door. He heard her slide out of her clothes and the water come on and wasn't sure what to think when she appeared from behind the door suddenly, naked save for a towel wrapped around her.

"Do you want to join me?" The boldness of the invitation was lost entirely in the casual way she asked and he laughed dismissively, assuming she was joking.

"Yeah, I'll be right in." He continued searching for something to watch.

"Do you want to?"

"Seriously?" His squeaky voice suddenly sounded like he was eleven years old again.

"Seriously." She stated and disappeared behind the door again as quickly as she had appeared.

For a moment Ron remained on the bed, staring out at the blank television screen, trying to figure out whether this was some kind of a test or a joke or some other mad thing girls did to test their boyfriends. But then he was on his feet, jerking his shirt over his head and hopping about the room madly as he tugged off his shoes and socks. He hurried with his belt and trousers, kicking them off in a frenzy and tripping over himself as he staggered toward the bathroom door.

She had retreated to the shower and he could see her silhouette through the already steam-covered shower door. He took in a deep breath. She'd only had one glass of wine with dinner. This wasn't the alcohol talking or grief over her parents or fear about not finding them. This was just Hermione. Slowly, his hands near trembling with anticipation, he opened the glass door and climbed inside. They'd never seen each other in light like this before, but her hands didn't reach to cover herself like they had any time before when he gazed at her pale perfect breasts or the damp triangle of hair between her legs. Following her lead, he removed his hands from where he was still cupping his bits and let them drop to his sides.

"This is...different." The idiotic utterance echoed around the shower as he watched her eyes survey his pale freckly body and the ginger curls that ran from his navel on down. He wasn't hard yet and he could tell she seemed fascinated to see him like this.

He wasn't entirely sure why she'd invited him in with her or what they were even supposed to do. It seemed a bit awkward. Both couldn't stand under the stream of water at the same time and he was already getting cold.

But while he was unsure, she had found her confidence. Closing the space between them, she showed him they could both fit as long as they were together. He fit perfectly against her and for what felt like minutes they just stood there beneath the stream of water, taking in every sensation of having their bodies aligned like they were, from their lips all the way down. He felt her grin against him as he slowly began to change shape against her, reveling in the feel of their slick bodies pressed against each other. They murmured 'I love yous' to each other while the water sprayed over both their faces, reveling in this new intimacy.

"Charms," he muttered urgently then.

"I did mine."

"Of course you did," he laughed.

"We should actually wash first." She reminded him of the four days camping through the bush.

"We're just going to get dirty."

"Let's get clean," she insisted and Ron dropped the argument as soon as he realised what getting clean meant. They covered each other with soap and bubbles, laughing as they shampooed each other's hair and fought playfully to both stay under the stream of water. They washed each other from front to back and somewhere along the line Ron forgot they were naked. He worked down her thighs to her calves, all the way down to her feet, then from his knees he began working his way back up. Ron noted the way her knees nearly buckled against him when his fingers found certain places. She followed suit, pressing her soaped-up breasts against his back beneath the warm water and following the same path, caressing places like the small of his back or the delicate place behind his knee that she never had before.

There wasn't a spot on either one they hadn't explored with their hands by the end of it. And when they stood facing each other beneath the stream of water, he knew it was about so much more than simply touching each other or just getting clean. It was all washing away. The dirt and grime of not just of the red Australian earth, but of the last year.

He felt clean again, normal almost, as they stepped out of the shower together, dried off and tumbled naked to the bed. There was laughter and smiles now in place of stammering and nerves. He tried talking to her more, asking her constantly if it felt good, asking her to say things back to him, trying to remember all that Hugo had told him. She moved with his rhythm more this time, her hips rising to meet his, increasing the pressure between them. There was no mistaking the sounds coming from her throat now. Soft, exquisite sounding moans with each pump of his hips. Her legs wrapped around his waist, like she couldn't get close enough. Her arms followed until she was literally wrapped around him.

"That's good?"

"It's good," she gasped.

"What can I do?" he groaned.

"Closer! I need you closer." She clawed at him and he pulled out suddenly, beholden with a brilliant idea. He was pleased to hear her gasp at the sudden loss of warmth between her legs. Her eyebrows sloped into a frown next as he grabbed her arms and pulled her to a sitting position on the bed. He didn't say anything, but just guided her onto his lap. He wasn't entirely sure how this would work, but if she wanted closeness, he reckoned this was as close as they could get.

She was slow to wrap her legs around his waist, seemingly unsure about the new arrangement, but when he kissed her it seemed to help. His hand tangled up in her wet hair as he held her tight to him, their bodies pressed together now, touching everywhere like they had in the shower. He could both feel and hear the breath leave her lungs when he pushed inside her. She looked to him with wide eyes, looking the slightest bit overwhelmed at the intensity of the new position. Moving his hand to her waist, he helped her move her hips as he moved with her. Together they found a rhythm, rocking back and forth, slowly gaining momentum. It didn't allow for as much movement as before, but he was suddenly aware of every nerve ending and every inch of skin in contact with hers. Her legs hugged his buttocks and her arms wrapped around him tightly just as his were around her. They were completely intertwined, connected in a way that made every time before pale in comparison. He was pleased to see a soft shimmer of sweat on her skin for the first time. His hands were sweaty too as he slid one between their bodies then to stroke the place that had made her legs buckle in the shower. Her mouth fell open then with a tiny gasp and his mouth covered her lower lip and chin.

They were wet sloppy kisses like he'd tried the first time, except this time he felt no need to apologise. Sloppy was okay. They didn't have to be perfect. He didn't have to ask her if it was good anymore. Their mouths, their arms, their chests, every inch of their bodies was touching. The gentle rocking of their hips grew faster as he felt the pressure building. He could feel her heart pounding and her breath quickening. Her limbs tightened around him and he could feel her whole body pulsating. The breathy cries that sounded from her lips were unlike any of the pleased moans and groans that had been such a revelation this month.

She was free. And he just watched as she threw her head back and let go of everything.


	43. Chapter 43

The half mile strip of land to which Hermione's parents had moved was flanked on one side by the Indian Ocean and by the Swan River on the other. Ron decided he liked the river side better. As beautiful and exotic as the Indian Ocean was, he preferred the calmness and familiarity of the river. They took breakfast down along the riverbank like they had the morning back in Brisbane, bacon butties and a cup of coffee for Hermione.

"You're sure you can do it?" Ron asked softly.

"I told you, lifting the spell is much easier than casting it the first time," she assured, "like with any spell."

"Right." He moved his hand atop hers and her eyes closed instinctively.

He could see her go somewhere else at the action. He didn't think a gentle caress of the hand could speak so much, but after last night the simple action of the pads of his fingers brushing the top of her hand seemed to take them both back.

It had been good.

It had been good in a way that made him want to do little else. That had been it. That had been the kind of sex that put her fears about never being able to stop into perspective. He surprised himself at their ability to even leave the bed this morning. They lost themselves for a moment in memories of last night and he wondered how they were supposed to get anything done today, nevertheless something as important as lifting the spell on her parents. He couldn't keep himself from kissing her. He didn't know how many kisses they would have left in Australia. It would be an adjustment going back to life at the Burrow with his mum's rules and his empty bed. He'd miss this freedom. He'd miss this world where she was truly the only thing that mattered. It made everything else so much easier.

"I bet you were bare arsed naked when I came in the room this morning, weren't you?" Hugo's voice suddenly sounded from behind them. He'd taken his breakfast at a park further down the river, in an attempt to give them a bit of privacy, which was odd considering the way he'd stormed into their room this morning. He cackled with laughter at her reaction, which all but confirmed his hunch.

Ron had difficulty suppressing a grin at the memory and the way Hermione had shrieked at him to leave. Ron wondered what on earth she would do if he revealed that half the things he'd done to her last night had been Hugo's suggestions.

"I was wearing pyjamas." Hermione lied, wrapping her jacket further around her shoulders self-consciously just like she'd done with the sheets that morning.

"Yeah, sure you were." He clucked at her teasingly.

"Shut it, would you?" Ron shoved him in the arm.

"So what did you want to talk about this morning?" He sat down beside them on the banks of the river. "Sounded important before you kicked me out the room."

"Right." The words reminded Ron of what they faced today. "Do you want to go see David and Emily with us this morning?"

"Sure."

"And would you be willing to do something for us?"

"Sure."

"It's gonna be one of those things that...one of those things where you just have to have faith," Ron phrased delicately. "It's not going to make much sense what happens, but you just need to trust us."

"Sure." Hugo's simple responses helped put Ron at ease. "Just tell me what I gotta do."

Fortunately, Hermione's nervous energy didn't seem to affect Hugo, but Ron could practically feel his own heart racing as they walked hand-in-hand to the corner of Somerset and Wayne. They'd gone over it nearly ten times. He wouldn't really say much. Mostly he would just be there to look at Hermione and give her the strength she needed. Her parents would recognise Hugo, after all. They wouldn't know Ron. That ought to make this easier. He hoped they might be outside like yesterday so they didn't have to knock on the door. For some reason that seemed more foreboding.

When the house came into view he felt Hermione's hand squeeze his one last time before detaching.

"Good luck." He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her, knowing the next time he did it, it would no longer just be the two of them. Hugo strode confidently up the walkway to the front door, a happy bounce to his step while Ron just shuffled nervously along behind him. Hermione remained behind them, waiting by the road, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot. He wasn't sure how this would go. Even with magic, her ability to walk undetected into the house would be tricky.

Hugo knocked three times, then looked over to Ron with a half grin as he waited for the Grangers to appear. Her mum opened the door and for the first time ever Ron looked at Mrs. Granger and tried to see Hermione in her.

"Hugo!" she exclaimed and immediately reached out to embrace the young man. "What are you doing here? Have you come to visit? Who is this? Is this a friend of yours? David, come quick! It's Hugo!"

Ron grinned. There was Hermione. He could see it now in the shape of her smile and the enthusiastic way she babbled.

"Do I know you?" Her eyes rested on Ron a moment and the smile quickly dropped from his face.

"Um. sort of." He wasn't quite sure how else to respond.

"Well, any friend of Hugo's is a friend of ours!" she welcomed warmly and motioned for them to enter the house. Ron glanced behind to where Hermione stood across the street, nodded his head and then disappeared into the Granger home. This was it. Depending on how things went, in a few short minutes she'd have her parents back.

Her dad looked taller than Ron remembered. Taller even than when he'd seen him yesterday, though Ron wondered if that was because in a few minutes he'd stop being a stranger and start being Hermione's boyfriend.

"Hugo!" He took long powerful strides over to Hugo and clapped him on the back. "Why didn't you let us know you were coming? Who is this with you?"

"Ron." Hugo motioned. "This is my friend, Ron." Ron smiled at how naturally Hugo spoke the words and the bit of truth they conveyed.

"Ron, nice to meet you." He gripped Ron's hand and shook it hard. "Have we met before?" His eyes narrowed as he asked the same question his wife had.

"Ron drove from Brisbane with me," Hugo spoke brightly, changing the subject. They chatted innocently then, taking a seat in the two chairs in the sitting room her mum motioned to as she hurried off to the kitchen to bring her two guests some tea.

Ron looked around the house, nervously glancing at his watch and wondering how long five minutes could really feel. He drank his tea silently, saying little while Hugo talked at length about life in Brisbane and the drive across the continent. They kept looking at Ron funny and he could see that somehow, someway they remembered his face. He wondered just how much of Hermione's spell had failed. He wondered how they would react if they were to see her right now.

As if on cue, he watched as she noiselessly crept through the front door and into the sitting room. The Silencing Charm worked perfectly and neither the closing door nor her footsteps made a sound.

"Brisbane's been same old same old, really. I got the last of the mail for you. Stopped by the house one last time before I left," he informed, wiping crumbs off his face with his sleeve. "That's where I met Ron and your daughter."

At the word 'daughter' Ron saw something shift inside her parents. They both laughed in confusion at the seemingly ridiculous statement, but they exchanged a look, too. A look that said somehow something about the word 'daughter' rang true.

That's when Ron gave Hugo the signal.

The young man closed his eyes obediently and Ron watched as Hermione's eyes locked on his for a moment before speaking the incantation she'd practiced nearly one hundred times that morning. Her wrist turned to the right then to the left and then flexed upward first for her mother and then her father.

There was no jet of light to show that it worked. Her parents' eyes grew bleary and out of focus and then they looked back and forth between Hugo and then Ron. Her mum's eyes rested on his the longest.

"Ron?" There was a recognition in her voice that was lacking when Hugo had first introduced him. "Ron Weasley?" Her voice sounded more hysterical now. "How? What? What are you doing here?" She looked to Hugo for answers, but the young man's eyes were still closed.

"Can I open them yet?" he asked Ron comically.

"Yeah."

"What's going on?" her father spoke now. "How do you - is Hermione here?"

"I'm right here," Hermione spoke meekly from behind the sofa. Her parents whirled around at the sound of her voice. Then the moment he knew she'd both dreaded and hoped for for months arrived.

They turned around and they recognised her.

"Hermione?" Ron could see whatever magic the curse had done was gone, as her mum began to step around the sofa to her daughter. Hermione remained motionless, watching her mum's movements nervously, awaiting the interrogation. Instead, Mrs. Granger wrapped her arms around her daughter and hugged her so fiercely Ron could see Hermione didn't know how to respond. Her arms hung limply by her sides at first. "I - I feel like I haven't seen you in months," her mum confessed tearily. "Oh, Hermione." She smoothed down her daughter's wild hair with her hand and only then did Ron see Hermione's arms finally tighten around her mum. She squeezed her eyes shut and Ron could tell by the shape of her mouth and the crease in her brow as she buried her face in her mum's shoulder that she was now fighting back tears.

Her dad waited patiently for them to disentangle before embracing his daughter just as firmly. This time Hermione wasn't motionless. She threw her arms around her father's neck and hugged him tightly. And Ron could see then just how much she missed them. She didn't talk about them or carry around their picture, but they were her mum and dad.

There were tears all around as they all took turns embracing. Ron watched her parents grasp each other deliriously then both wrap their arms around their daughter again. He had trouble making out where the sniffling was coming from, they were all laughing and crying so much. This was better than anything Hermione had hoped for, he knew. Ron stood silently by, unsure what to do and almost feeling like he should excuse himself. This was Granger family business and suddenly he felt very much like a stranger.

"I'll just - er - I think I'll go for a walk," Hugo stood up and excused himself, seeming to be thinking the same thing.

"No, please stay, Hugo." Her mum wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand like Hermione always did.

"I'll come back tonight. Let you...catch up." Ron looked to the young man, whose face looked a bit sad somehow underneath the smile as he walked toward the door.

"Oh, do come back for dinner," her mum invited. "I want to know how you found her or how she found you and how this all happened! I - I can't remember…" Her voice began to tremble and Ron looked over to Hermione nervously. "How come I can't remember?"

Ron saw Hermione lick her lips and then look to him for help. This was the moment she had feared, he knew. The moment that had caused her to retreat every time he asked her about her parents, the uncertainty of which scared her so much she'd almost stopped trying to find them. The moment that, despite having a whole year to prepare for, she didn't have the slightest idea of how to proceed.

"It was magic, wasn't it?" her dad finally spoke quietly and scratched his head. "That's why we can't remember, isn't it?" He didn't sound angry, but he didn't sound pleased by the prospect, either.

"Magic," her mother scoffed, but the sight of Hermione's face caused the ridiculous smile to fall from her face. "Is he right? Did someone do something?" she gasped. "Did - did you do something?

"M - maybe you should sit down," Hermione stammered, motioning back to the sofa.

"Did Hugo leave already?" Mr. Granger looked toward the front door anxiously, sounding a bit dismayed that the only thing familiar that he could remember had left.

"He just stepped out for a walk," Ron spoke up finally from his spot on the other side of the sofa. Her father looked at him then for the first time and despite the fact that Ron had several inches on her father, he suddenly felt like he was two feet high. He could see the wheels spinning then about more than just why his memory of the last ten months was failing him. He could see him making out why Ron had not retreated like Hugo had.

"Maybe you ought to join him," he suggested softly. It wasn't a direct threat, but the pointed words made Ron take an obliging step back.

"She saved your lives," Ron blurted out then. "I'll give you a minute." He looked to her father in acknowledgment. "But just - whatever she tells you...remember that."

He paced outside in the garden, wondering if he'd made the right decision in leaving her alone. He could hear shrill voices and shouts and sometimes he'd have his hand on the glass patio door, but then he'd stop. They were her parents. This was her story to tell and not his. Still, he paced nervously, wondering what she was telling them.

He wondered how much of the last year she'd reveal, whether she'd tell them she had spent ten months sharing a tent with Ron before or after she broke the news that he was her boyfriend. Either way, he could not see it ending well for him. He wondered if she'd tell them all that had happened to her, whether she'd roll up her sleeves and show them, or if she'd decide they didn't need to worry about her.

It grew quiet for a time and Ron was tempted to return, but he waited. Eventually, she came to the door. Her face was red and tear-stained, not as bad as it had been after finding their empty house back in Brisbane, but certainly not what he had hoped to see.

"You didn't have to leave." She wiped at her eyes.

"I just thought I'd give you...y'know, time alone," Ron mumbled.

"They're angry," she spoke simply and sniffled loudly. He said nothing and just crushed her to his chest in an apologetic hug flooded with unintentional memories of last night as she gripped him tightly. They stood in the garden holding each other and Ron wished the sun would come out from behind the cloud it had disappeared behind. He wished Hugo would come and relieve the tension in the house like he always did. He hadn't known what to expect and, truthfully, he knew it would be tense, but he had hoped her parents would be so glad to have her back in their lives the rest would be forgotten. For a moment it seemed like that might happen, but then the hazy memories from the last year had caught up to them.

As if on cue, they both appeared from behind the glass door. Her father's arms were crossed against his chest and his lips were pressed together in a thin line, which seemed to turn into a frown when he saw the two embracing. They disentangled slowly, but did not break apart as quickly as he reckoned her father was hoping.

"Your father and I...recognise that you took...precautions to keep us safe," her mum spoke in short measured sentences. "We just don't see why you didn't come, too."

"I couldn't because I had to stop it."

"That's ludicrous, Hermione," her father snapped. "If children of...non-magical parents were in such danger, why on earth wouldn't you go into hiding, too?"

"Because I had to help Harry. Ron and I promised him we would."

"Ah yes, of course. And what is your life against a promise to a friend?" her father spat sarcastically, shaking his head. Ron was tempted to speak out, but kept quiet, not wanting to upset her father further. "Where is Harry? Is he here, too?"

"No. Just Ron."

"So you and Ron..." Her dad's voice drifted and he waved his hand suggestively, looking more disgusted than Ron would like when he seemed to make the connection that they were together. "Of course. That's what this year was all about." Ron's ears turned hot at the insinuation, especially with the memories of last night still fresh in his mind.

"No, daddy. It wasn't like that." Ron flinched hearing Hermione appeal to her dad with such imploring desperation. It sounded so unnatural and foreign.

"So he's not your boyfriend?" He spoke the word with such contempt Ron had a sudden desire to Disapparate on the spot.

"No, he - he is - " Hermione stammered, looking to the ground.

"I knew it!" her father growled.

"Oh, David, would you stop?" her mum finally cried. "This doesn't exactly constitute a revelation!" Her dad's eyes were wide, but he said nothing, his wife's sputtering words seeming to silence him.

Ron stood uncomfortably beside Hermione, suddenly wishing his hand wasn't still on her waist, but somehow unable to remove it.

"I know it's a lot of information to take in, but for goodness sake!" Her husband opened his mouth to object, but she continued. "Of all the things we could discuss right now is that genuinely what you're going to focus on?"

Ron tried to fight back a grin at the way she fussed at her husband in a much too familiar way.

"Maybe," her mum looked to Hermione then. "Maybe if you started from the beginning."

The clouds remained for nearly the entire two hour conversation. In reality, it wasn't much of a conversation. They sat outside on the patio and Hermione talked while her parents listened. Both hands were wrapped around Ron's the entire time and he found himself wishing she were clinging to something else whenever he caught her father's eye. She'd squeeze hard every now and then when she got to a difficult part, like explaining Dumbledore didn't just pass away from natural causes and the injuries she'd come home with after fifth year weren't just from an accident on her broomstick.

They didn't ask many questions. They gasped in horror and shook their heads in disgust and for most of it Ron reckoned they were wondering what they'd ever gotten themselves into putting her on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago. But they didn't say anything. They didn't shout or cry when she got to the part where she explained how she came up with the idea to modify their memories for their own protection. She glossed over the details of this year, Ron noticed, and he knew that was likely because there was just so much to sort out. Her coupling with Ron seemed to be the only thing they could really process, because after the lengthy narrative it was the first question they asked.

"So when did this happen?" Her mum seemed happy to be able to focus on something positive as she looked to their joined hands. Apparently, she was able to block out her husband's surly expression.

"Just...this month actually," Hermione admitted with a nervous smile. Ron again felt the urge to Disapparate.

Her mum just beamed at him, however. Ron tried to smile back, but found it difficult to do under her father's still blatantly disapproving glare.

"Well, whenever Hugo comes back, you must all stay for dinner." Ron was grateful, despite the overwhelming amount of information that had just been thrown her way, that her mum was trying desperately for some normalcy. He could see Hermione in her now more than ever. She might physically resemble her dad more closely, but the best of Hermione he could see in her mum. "There is the greatest little Indian place up the road. David, why don't you go bring back a couple curries and some breads. Maybe a bottle of wine to celebrate." She gave an indulgent grin and playful raise of the shoulders and looked toward Ron. "There's so much to celebrate." Ron wondered for a moment if she was trying too hard to make things normal, but then he felt Hermione squeeze his hand.

"I missed you, mum."

"We missed you, too."

Then mother and daughter were hugging again and Ron and Mr. Granger just stood by, both watching the hug and eyeing each other.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she fussed at her husband then. "A couple of curries - "

"What kind of curries?"

"And some bread."

"What kind of bread?"

"And some wine."

"What kind of wine?"

"I don't know. Shiraz. We're almost out of Shiraz," she clucked. Ron watched the exchange with mild amusement as he looked to her father's grumpy face.

"Do you want some help?" he blurted out. Hermione looked as taken aback as her father by the offer. Ron wasn't sure why he extended the offer. Leaving Hermione and being alone with her father seemed about the worst possible scenario he could imagine, but the words tumbled forth nonetheless. "I could...you know, go with you, if you need." They all just stared at him while he shifted his weight nervously. He certainly didn't want her father to take him up on it, but he couldn't help but feel like it was the kind of thing a boyfriend ought to do.

"I think I'll manage," her dad dismissed, his voice for the first time lacking the hostility it had seemed to every time he had spoken to Ron thus far. "Thank you."

Ron shrugged and went back to feeling useless as he watched her dad look for his keys and depart while Hermione and her mum continued to catch up. They talked about Australia and what it was like and how they met Hugo.

"Why don't I go look for Hugo?" Ron proposed then.

"Oh, he ought to turn up by supper time," her mum dismissed with a wave of the hand. "He usually does."

"Right." Ron jammed his hands in his pockets. They talked about the Australian weather then and their favourite places in Brisbane and it all seemed too polite and friendly. They weren't speaking about what she'd done. They weren't talking about where she'd been. They seemed so happy simply to be reunited he knew the conversation was deliberately staying away from anything that might upset that reunion. He offered to lay the table then and bring them a drink and do all the things his mum had taught him to do while a guest in somebody's house.

He was grateful when the familiar three beat knock he'd heard that morning on their hotel door sounded and Hugo appeared in the doorframe.

"Hey, mate, glad you're here." Ron almost wanted to hug him. At least he and Hugo could talk and he would no longer feel like someone eavesdropping in on a private moment between Hermione and her mum. But all Hugo wanted to do was catch up with Emily. The interplay between them was interesting to observe. He was more natural with her than Hermione was. There were no awkward pauses or hesitations, no overly polite conversation. In fact, the longer Hugo stayed the more Hermione drifted back to Ron. By the time her dad arrived with arms full of curry and naan, they were wrapped so closely around each other her dad couldn't help but frown again.

Ron immediately detached and raced over to assist her father with the bags. He'd never felt such an innate desire to earn someone's approval before in his life. It was a bizarre feeling when paired with his obvious urge to stay with Hermione. He felt like he couldn't do both at once.

"Thank you, Ron," her father sounded appreciatively as Ron helped him with some of the bags hanging off his arms.

"You're welcome." Ron offered a hasty smile, pleased that her father had both addressed him by name and thanked him.

"Ah, Hugo! You came back!" he roared with delight and walked past Hermione to the kitchen where Hugo was entertaining his wife with stories of Highgate Hill in their absence.

Ron joined Hermione then, whose hurt was obvious it seemed to everyone but her parents.

"These two probably don't think much of my gardening abilities after seein' the house." Hugo turned his attention to the two whose arms had wrapped around each others' waists again. "It looked a right mess when they came by."

"And how did you meet her?" her mum inquired and Ron couldn't help but notice the way she asked how Hugo had met Hermione and not the other way around. His hand rested comfortably in the small of her back and he moved his fingers in an intimate and supportive way that he no longer cared if her parents saw.

It was an uncomfortable dinner. Ron hated to think of what it might have been like if Hugo hadn't been there. And yet at the same time he wished Hugo were absent from the table. Hermione ate her food in silence for most of the meal. He knew her parents weren't doing it purposefully, but he felt a bit like she was being punished for her actions. Like they were showing her what happened when she erased them from her memories. Hugo had happened.

Ron worried for a moment the resentment toward Hugo he'd seen those first few days in the car might return, but she just seemed to withdraw the longer the meal went on. His hand found her leg beneath the table and he gave a squeeze, reminded of that first dinner back with his family in the Great Hall. They'd get through this just like they gotten through that dinner and all the painful meals that had followed.

He was confident her father knew he was touching her beneath the table, but as neither he nor her mother seemed to be engaging her in conversation, he didn't withdraw his hand until the meal came to a close. Ron helped clear the table then with Hugo's help while the Grangers opened another bottle of wine. He wondered how long the night would go on and how exactly it would come to a close.

They sat at the table, each of her parents with a glass of wine that never seemed to empty. Ron wondered if the Grangers hoped the wine would somehow make the evening less uncomfortable. He and Hermione barely drank any of theirs, but Hugo certainly emptied his glass quickly. Perhaps that's what kept calling him away to the bathroom. Every time he'd step away from the table, even just to go fetch the peach crumble from the kitchen, the table descended into uncomfortable silence. When he finally rose from the table for good and stretched his arms above his head, Ron could only hope that meant the end of the night was near.

"And you're sure you don't want to spend the night here?" her mum insisted as Hugo pulled on his jacket.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. My hotel's great. It's right by the beach," Hugo dismissed, looking toward Ron with a smile.

"Well." Her mum drew the word out like she was trying to think of the right words to follow. "Hermione, there's a guest room and bathroom upstairs. I can get you some towels."

At the proposal that she would sleep anywhere but in a bed with Ron tonight, Hermione couldn't help but look furtively toward him. Her mum stumbled, detecting the hesitation on her daughter's part to detach from Ron's side for the first time in weeks.

"Oh, unless of course...you'd rather…"

"No!" Hermione replied immediately in embarrassment. "Of course, I want to stay - "

"Ron, you're...welcome to stay too, of course." Ron could tell the invitation took a bit of effort. "We could make up the sofa."

"No." He didn't know why his reply sounded so quickly. He didn't want to go back to the hotel alone. He'd rather sleep on a sofa under the same roof as Hermione. Perhaps she could cast a Silencing Charm and sneak out of bed to join him. But then he knew this was their reality now. It started now, their return to the real world. There would be no posh hotel rooms and king size beds to share back at the Burrow. This was it from now on. "Thank you, but - er - Hugo and I'll be just fine."

"Right! We'll have a stag night!" Hugo clapped him on the back and Ron desperately wished he hadn't just made a reference to marriage.

"Well, you both are welcome to come round tomorrow." Ron tried not to be too visibly unsettled by the realisation that he now had to be invited to see Hermione.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, thanks."

Both boys muttered at the same time. Hermione's eyes were fixed on Ron's as he spoke and he tried to ignore the growing feeling of dread.

"Well...er...thank you for dinner." He tried to delay the inevitable some more, but found himself unable to say anything else to fill the growing silence. "Goodnight."

It was Hermione who boldly stepped forward and kissed him then. It was a quick peck, downright chaste after last night, but he knew it was so much more than a kiss to the Grangers. It was a clear sign that sleeping alone wasn't something she and Ron had had to do the last three weeks. The way her lips hung off his just a second longer than they should and her fingertips dug into his hips was an obvious indicator, if her parents hadn't figured it out already, that they were intimate. Mostly, he reckoned it was a clear signal that their daughter had changed more than she could ever even try to explain in the months they'd been apart. And he knew he should just keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't keep the words from tumbling out.

"I love you."

He was unprepared for the amount of ball-busting Hugo dished out on the long walk back to the beachside hotel. He barely waited for them to make it from the Granger's house to the street before laying into Ron and it didn't lessen the entire fifteen minute walk.

"I mean it's not like you're leaving her to go to war," he chided and Ron wondered if Hugo could know how close his words were to reality. She'd dream about the war tonight the same way he would. He knew she would. She'd tremble and shake and call for him and he wouldn't be there beside her. "You just say goodnight and thanks for dinner. Rule number one of meeting the parents! You don't snog and say 'I love you'."

"She kissed me first."

"Rule number two: you don't finger her under the table!"

"I wasn't...fingering her!" Ron sputtered. "I just had my hand on her leg."

"Oi, but her old man thinks you were."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"You do not."

"He knows you're puttin' the wood to her."

"Would you stop?"

"You havin' your hands all over her don't really help none."

"It's complicated, okay!" Ron thundered.

"Look at you all angry 'cause you can't get your jollies tonight. I take it you worked things out in the bedroom?"

"You're worse than my brothers, you know that?" Ron seriously doubted even they would be this relentless, but the comment just made Hugo roar with laughter. He dragged Ron into the hotel bar and ordered a whiskey neat and made Ron order a drink as well. Unsure what to order in a Muggle bar aside from the ale he'd had with Charlie, he just duplicated Hugo's order.

"You think you'll marry her?" Hugo asked then and despite the private nature of the question, Ron could tell he wasn't trying to take the piss anymore.

"I dunno." Ron shrugged and tried to swallow some of the amber liquid. It had none of the pleasant warming qualities of firewhiskey or even the hot whiskey they'd drank out in the bush. "I don't really think about stuff like that."

"I bet you will," Hugo stated confidently. "You come back and see me when you do."

"Okay," Ron laughed at the absurd thought of he and Hermione as husband and wife. He was still getting comfortable with the notion that they were in a relationship. Right now she was just a girlfriend who he loved and was unhappy to not be able to sleep with tonight. "Think you'll stay in Perth?" He turned the conversation to Hugo and took another sip.

"Dunno really. I haven't seen enough of it yet, but yeah. I like it well enough so far." Hugo shrugged. "How long you think you'll stay?"

"I don't know." Ron knew moving the Grangers back to England would hardly be instantaneous. "I don't know if they'll come back with us or not."

"Right."

"Look, I need to ask you a favor," Ron spoke softly then. "And I know I have no right to ask it of you after all you've done."

"Go ahead."

"I need you...not to come by tomorrow." He felt guilty almost as soon as he asked. Hugo didn't reply and Ron knew it was a terrible thing to ask him. "It's just...she needs to have her family back, y'know? And as long as you're there...she won't."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's - I've got to go find my mates anyway," Hugo scoffed, trying much too hard to seem casual.

"Maybe just wait 'til the evening?" Ron proposed. "Just give her some time alone with them."

Hugo took a long sip and nodded his head again, but didn't say anything for a long time.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem," Hugo belched.

"No, I mean thanks for...you know, not asking anything. I know this probably all seems...really weird - "

"I'm going with either secret spies from MI6 who did memory reversal hypnotherapy or...alien life forms," Hugo chuckled and then gave a wave of his hand. "Nah, I told you you don't have to explain."

"I want to," Ron spoke simply. "I really do. I just...can't."

"Then don't."

"Right."

There was a long pause then and both took another sip of whiskey.

"I'm glad they finally found her," Hugo remarked with a sad grin after he set his glass back down.

Ron wasn't sure how to respond. He knew Hermione finding her parents meant Hugo was alone again. But it also meant the Grangers could all be a proper family again. And in that moment, Ron knew leaving Australia, whenever it happened, meant he had to be like Hugo. Being here with Hermione, sharing everything they had, it was brilliant and part of him never wanted it to end, but part of him also knew that this wasn't where they belonged, that they'd never really be whole again if they stayed on this side of the world.*

"I'm glad we found you," Ron credited him with the teary reunion that afternoon. Hugo smiled then and they clinked their glasses together and drank to Australia and crossing the Nullarbor and unexpected friendships.

Ron looked to the rough young man with his chipped tooth and stubbled chin and he wondered what it was about Hugo that made him so easy to talk with.

"I bet your family will be glad to have you back," Hugo commented knowingly.

"Yeah." Ron took a drink and thought about the family he'd left behind. "I wasn't exactly - when I was there I was sort of…" Ron's voice filled with shame. "I didn't go to my brother's funeral," he blurted out suddenly, not even sure why he was telling Hugo.

"No?"

"I mean I - I could see it. I was there, but I wasn't really," he explained. "I - I skipped it. Hermione told me to go. She told me I'd regret it - "

"Do you?"

"I dunno," he murmured, thinking about that awful morning and how he'd retched in the field. "I just couldn't do it. I couldn't go. I couldn't...if I went, it meant he was really gone." Ron stared down at the damp napkin on the hotel bar and began picking at it. Hugo was silent, but still Ron kept talking. "And I know he is. Fred's dead. I know that and I knew it then."

"Funerals are bloody depressing," Hugo interjected then.

"You've known someone who's died?" Ron hated being cheered by the thought, but couldn't help himself.

"One of my mates when I was living outside Sydney - he got himself killed driving the M4 while he was pissed."

"I'm sorry."

"We weren't very close. Just someone to get drunk with really. Anyway, I had to go to his funeral and it was just such…it was such shit. None of us wanted to watch him be put in the ground or talk about him and it didn't really even hit me until the next week anyway when I went to the pub and he wasn't there so I don't much see the point."

"I know he's dead. I do."

"I'm sayin' don't beat yourself up for not goin' to his funeral."

"I was with my other brother, too."

"Then I reckon that's where you needed to be," Hugo stated and gave a shrug.

"Then two days later I left with Hermione." The guilt was so obvious in his voice Ron knew he didn't have to say anything further.

"It's where you needed to be," Hugo repeated.

He made everything so simple. He didn't live in his head or think about things. He just lived. It's what made Ron trust him so instinctively. It's why he ordered another round of drinks and found himself telling Hugo all about Fred. He made an effort to censor the magical parts. Mostly he talked about Fred and what a pain in the arse he'd been for most of Ron's life. He talked about how much Hugo would have liked him and they did what Ron hadn't been able to do seventeen days ago. They raised their glasses and drank a toast to Fred.


	44. Chapter 44

He woke up after his first night alone in weeks and discovered that he wasn't alone after all. The remnants of last night's libations rested on the small table beside him and Hugo was sprawled across the sofa on the other side of the room. They'd continued drinking up here after the hotel bar closed down, he remembered now. They'd opened up the tiny refrigerator and continued sharing stories of loss and laughter and guilt. His head pounded as he staggered to the bathroom, feeling much like he had the morning of his brother's funeral. He splashed water onto his face and thought about having a wash, but didn't think he could even hold his head up that long. Fuck, and he had to see Hermione's parents today. She would kill him. Hermione would murder him for getting pissed again.

The sound of the running water must have woken Hugo because Ron heard several loud swears and then a thump that sounded as if he'd fallen off the sofa.

"Get up!" Ron grumbled to Hugo while holding his face in his hands. "Get up!"

"Oh, fucking hell." Hugo rubbed his temples with his hands. "Oi, I don't think I'll be moving much today."

"I have to move. I told Hermione's mum I'd be there at eleven!"

"That's shit luck, mate," Hugo muttered and collapsed back on the sofa.

"Either fucking help me or get the fuck back to your fucking room." Ron managed to hurl a pillow across the room at Hugo, who seemed to lack the strength to put his hands up to stop it.

"Oh, relax," he groaned.

"Help me, you wanker."

"What do you want me to do?"

"How do I...stop feeling like shit?" He pointed to his head urgently.

"Eat bread and bananas," Hugo muttered from beneath the pillow. "And go get some coffee."

"Bread, bananas, and coffee?"

"And sex. Sex helps a hangover."

"Sex does?" Ron filed the information away.

"Well, to be honest, it don't really help get rid of it," Hugo cackled. "Just sort of passes the time."

Rolling his eyes, Ron ignored Hugo and rummaged through his bag and attempted to find the least dirty pair of clothes in there. There was a pair of trousers he could certainly take the wrinkles out of and an Oxford shirt with a stain he could easily clean up with his wand if Hugo would leave the room. He looked to the clock on the table beside the bed and swore when he saw it was already almost ten.

"You're really panicking about this, eh?" Hugo muttered in amusement.

"I've just never really...met her parents before, y'know?" Ron informed. "I mean, not like this. Not as her boyfriend."

"What are you talking about? You met 'em yesterday," Hugo dismissed with a laugh. "We had dinner."

"Yeah, but yesterday there was so much else to...process," Ron admitted. "And you were there and I don't think I came off looking too good."

"Well, that's 'cause you were fingering her under the table."

"I told you I wasn't!" This time it was his trainer he hurled at Hugo's head.

"All right, all right…" Though he moved slowly, Ron saw Hugo attempt to climb off the sofa. He was still dressed in his clothes from last night and searched through bleary eyes for his wallet as he staggered to the door. "I'll meet you in the lobby in ten," he informed. "Start drinking water now."

The directions sounded so serious, Ron began drinking water as soon as Hugo departed. He even brought the glass into the shower with him as he fought against the memory of what he and Hermione had done in there and attempted to wash away the smell of alcohol that seemed to be oozing out of his pores.

He couldn't tell if Hugo had made an attempt to shower or not. When he met him in the lobby, he was wearing different clothes, but he looked just as scraggly and bleary-eyed as ever.

"You're pretty high-strung, you know that?" Hugo chided when Ron joined him.

"I am not."

"When it comes to her, you are." The comment reminded Ron of the one he'd made yesterday on the beach about how serious he could be. He wondered if he was turning into two different people, one person with Hermione and one person without, or if both were merely merging into the same person. Maybe this person, who panicked about meeting her parents a second time, was the same one who got nervous about Quidditch matches and exams. Maybe he'd been this person all along.

"Will you fucking help me?"

"It's like you've never been hungover before," Hugo snorted derisively as they left the hotel and turned left.

"I've been hungover!" Ron growled. "It's just I wish I had brought - my brother has this thing. This antidote. Hair of the - "

"-dog?" Hugo finished the Muggle phrase before Ron could say 'dragon'. "Yeah, that's not gonna work this morning. Come on, we'll get you some coffee."

They found a cafe on the main street in Cottesloe that sold everything Hugo told him he would need to feel better by noon. Ron choked down the horribly bitter coffee and ate the brown bread and bananas like Hugo instructed. There was more to Ron's nerves than just showing up hungover though and Hugo knew it.

"Now, she'll make eggy bread probably. It's not that sweet, but if you put anything on it, she'll think she's done a poor job." Ron grinned at the description that sounded so much like Hermione. "She also makes this weird spicy-tomato-baked-egg-thing." Hugo frowned while describing. "It's not very good, but just humour her if she does make it."

"Doesn't sound like she's much of a cook," Ron frowned.

"Well, she's good at the basic stuff. Boiled eggs and soldiers, they'll be fine. She just fancies herself a better cook than she is an' her husband don't have the heart to tell her."

"Right." Ron smiled, thinking of Hermione again.

"They like bein' outside so you might brunch in the garden. I didn't see any yesterday, but she likes to tend to the flowers. Least she did in Brisbane."

"What about her dad?"

"Well, don't get him talkin' about politics," Hugo warned. "Not about John Major or whatever his effing name is. Apparently, he ran a shit campaign last year and - yea, whoever the new prime minister is, don't mention him either."

"Not a problem." Ron knew nary a thing about Muggle politics. "What else?"

"He's a rugby union fan, I think."

"Okay." Ron knew nothing about the Muggle sport. Now he was beginning to fear he'd have nothing to talk about.

"His team never wins though and they've apparently got ugly kits to boot."

"Oh!" Ron brightened considerably at the news that Mr. Granger cheered for a miserable team that dressed in ugly kits.

"What're you so worried about?" Hugo snorted at Ron's obvious nerves. "They're good people. They'll like you just fine."

"We just...I know we don't have a lot in common," Ron mumbled, knowing he couldn't reveal much more to Hugo.

"You've got Hermione." Hugo shrugged, once again demonstrating his ability to make everything seem so simple.

"Yeah, and as you were so kind to point out, they know I'm putting the wood to her."

"I was just takin' the piss - "

"You were right."

"You'll be fine," Hugo assured. "Look, they were searchin' all over the country tryin' to find her and YOU brought her back to them."

"You did it."

"You brought her here," Hugo repeated firmly. "An' if they act a little funny it's probably because...they know it was you." He shrugged. "An' that means they owe you."

"I think you're giving me too much credit," Ron dismissed.

"They know it's you that brought her back to them. They know it's you that makes her happy." He shrugged simply. "Just don't finger her under the table again and you'll be fine."

"Oh, sod off." Ron shook his head from across the table and threw what was left of his bagel at Hugo.

The teasing laughter helped ease his nerves though and the food Hugo made him order helped his hangover immensely. By the time he made his way over to 29 Somerset Way, he felt slightly more confident. They all loved Hermione. That was the one thing they all shared.

He wondered how she had done last night, sleeping all alone. He'd drunk himself into a stupor so he'd passed out without thinking too much about how lonely the bed seemed. Ron wondered how she'd slept in the strange bed in the strange house with these people that used to be her parents. He wondered how the morning was going.

His answer came when she greeted him at the door and with eyes that indicated how grateful she was to see him even if all she did was smile politely. Ron remembered Hugo's words of warning about public displays, but he couldn't help his arm from snaking around her waist as soon as he saw her.

"Is Hugo with you?" The inquiry sounded from her parents even before a greeting to him.

"Oh - er - no." He tried not to sound too guilty as he spoke, knowing full well he was the reason Hugo wasn't there. "He went to find his mates."

"Yes, of course, of course. Well, I'm glad you could make it," her mum smiled warmly at him and then motioned to the back of the house. "We thought we'd brunch out in the garden."

"Great," Ron replied stiffly and followed Hermione out. Her mum had made up a spread with just about everything Hugo had told him, including the spicy tomato egg dish that Ron hoped had improved since the last time Hugo sampled it. He made polite conversation about how good it looked and sampled a bit of everything, chewing slower than he normally would to try and stretch out the time he didn't have to speak. Nobody seemed to want to speak aside from overly polite requests to pass the salt or the jam. Ron shuddered thinking about what the quiet morning must have been like before he arrived.

"So David and I are going to go into work this afternoon to give our notice," her mum spoke after a particularly long silence.

"Your notice?" Ron frowned.

"Yes, your two weeks notice when you leave a job."

"Oh." Ron felt foolish. You had to do much the same thing in the Wizarding World.

"We can use those two weeks to...tie everything up here and then…"

"Go home," Hermione finished.

"We'll stay here for two more weeks?" Ron tried not to sound so troubled by the thought. He liked this country. He wouldn't mind a few more nights drinking with Hugo, but the thought of two weeks apart from Hermione in this odd arrangement with her parents was hardly appealing.

"Well, we probably won't need to stay the full two weeks. Explaining the situation will be...tricky, at best, especially since we only just started but - "

"We can help with that," Ron blurted out then. "We can help you explain it."

"You mean use magic?" her father looked none too happy at the suggestion. "Like what Hermione did to us?"

Ron winced at the scathing way her father said it and he looked to Hermione across the table and hated to imagine how she felt.

"Not...exactly. It just - I just…" Ron stammered.

"You'd mess with their memories."

"No, we'd - it wouldn't be - we'd just make it so - "

"We'll think about it," her mum butted in then. "Thank you for the offer to help."

"You can go back home to your family, if you want, Ron." Her father's words, though a kind overture, were cloaked in that latent hostility Ron had detected yesterday; the hostility that had made him so nervous about seeing them again today. "Two weeks is a long time and there's really no reason for you to stay."

"I want him to stay," Hermione finally spoke quietly.

"Of course you do." Her father rolled his eyes.

"David."

"Well, of course she wants him to stay!"

"Well, I want him to stay, too!" Ron felt a surge of affection for Emily Granger then, but he was afraid to even smile.

"He wants us to use magic again to leave our jobs. Magic this, magic that. It's always magic."

"I'd just like to help." Ron tried to maintain his composure and not be rattled by the attack.

"Thank you, Ron. That's very nice of you," her mum spoke to him like he was a child.

They finished the meal in silence. Ron wondered how much longer it could last.

He kept himself busy helping to clear the plates from the table in the garden, but once they were all in and Hermione and her mum began busying themselves around the kitchen, he found himself feeling as useless as he had yesterday. Her father had retreated to the sitting room and turned on the telly. He was watching a news program and, though Ron knew he should leave him alone, he couldn't help but approach him.

"I'll go home if you want," he offered quietly then. "I get that this is...that I ought to be with my own family." Mr. Granger eyed Ron, but didn't turn his face from the television screen. "The thing is...she's my family, too."

It was a bold admission, Ron knew, and probably not what Hugo would tell him to say, but he wanted to be honest. "Her, Harry and me - we were all we had this year. And if you want to be angry at me, fine, I get that. I'll go home." Ron spoke calmly. "But don't be angry with her." He took in a deep breath before continuing, seeing he'd captivated the imposing man's attention. "I'd be dead if it weren't for Hermione. And you'll hear a lot about Harry when you get back home and what he did, if you want to hear it, but know he'd be dead too if it weren't for her. And I mean no disrespect, but so would you." He wasn't yelling and he wasn't trying to argue. He was just stating facts, facts that Hermione obviously hadn't revealed yet. "My family went into hiding and my brother still died." He tried to disguise the tremble in his voice and he could tell the admission, possibly more than anything else, seemed to penetrate David Granger's steely gaze then.

"Your brother died?" The revelation that a member of a completely magical family had perished seemed too impossible a notion to grasp so he repeated it.

"A lot of people died," Ron responded simply.

"And you're telling me more would have if it wasn't for Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Including us?"

"Yes."

He continued to stare at the television screen, saying nothing. Ron pretended to watch the images on the screen too, not knowing what else to do.

"Is your world always this dangerous?" her father inquired softly then.

"Not anymore."

Half his mouth twisted upward then. Ron couldn't tell what the expression meant, whether it was a half smile or a grimace. He turned his eyes back to the television screen where images of a riot flashed across the screen. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he listened to the broadcast about race riots in Indonesia where shops were looted and women raped. Ron wasn't sure whether it was the uncomfortable images of violence and destruction, of burning buildings and maimed bodies, or something else that finally made her father speak.

"Thank you," Mr. Granger finally spoke. "For looking out for her."

There it was. The one thing they had in common, just like Hugo had said.

"Honestly, she - she probably saved me more than - " he stammered nervously.

"Thank you for looking out for her," he repeated and his eyes locked firmly on Ron's then. "I'd like it if you stayed."

There was little he and Hermione could do. Her parents spent most of the afternoon on the phone, attempting to cancel leases and take care of all kinds of paperwork that gave Ron a headache just hearing about secondhand. They sat on the sofa, unable to do much more than hold hands and try not to eavesdrop on the phone conversations that seemed to go in circles. Ron was able to pick up that everything down to the sofa they were sitting on was rented and there were legally binding contracts in place that they could not break. Frustration mounted as the day wore on. Her mum came in and joined them with a tea tray and a brave smile at one point. She kept up a much more calm facade than her husband, but inside he knew her wheels were likely spinning. There was so much he knew she probably wanted to ask. He could see it in Hermione too, especially when she eyed the book on the table.

"Are you reading a Winter's Tale?" she inquired as they sipped their tea in uncomfortable silence.

"Oh, yes. I couldn't sleep the other night and came down here to read."

Ron could see Hermione smile then. Not a nervous smile or an uncomfortable one to hide her discomfort. This was genuine. He could see it in her eyes and feel it in the way her hand moved on top of his. Ron understood only when he spotted the author of the book.

"You were reading Shakespeare!" he spoke with an enthusiasm that he could see surprised Mrs. Granger.

"I was," she remarked and her eyes fixed on their joined hands, shared smiles and the comfortable way they leaned into each other. "So, how long have you two been...searching for us?" she tried to ask casually.

"Um, about two weeks."

"Two weeks! Goodness." The nature of the query suddenly seemed to dawn on Hermione.

"Well, two weeks since we left Ron's house! We - we spent four days getting to Australia and - and what was it - six days in Brisbane, and then four more days driving with Hugo, so only ten days actually searching," Hermione clarified, seemingly eager for her mum to understand the details.

"But it's just been you two then?"

"And Hugo, this week," Hermione reminded and Ron was quite sure he knew now where the conversation was headed. He wondered if it would be too obvious if he dismissed himself to go to the loo.

"That's a lot of time together." The statement was so loaded Ron couldn't even look her in the eye. He probably couldn't look any guiltier if he wore an 'I fucked your daughter' t-shirt.

"Ron didn't want me to have to travel alone."

"Thank you for that, Ron." He couldn't tell if it was a pointed comment, but his ears burned nonetheless.

"Are you and dad making flight arrangements today?" Hermione deftly changed the subject.

"Dear, we're still trying to figure out how to get out of all these contracts."

"Because I can take care of our trip back."

"I don't think your father wants to use magic to travel - "

"No, it's - it's not magic!" Hermione looked so excited to be able to say that. "It''s a credit card. A Ministry credit card. We can charge our return on it," she explained.

"Plane tickets with this short notice will be awfully expensive, Hermione." Her mum frowned.

"Plane tickets? Are we flying back on an aeroplane?" Ron's eyes lit up excitedly.

"We still have a tremendous amount to do before we think about returning home."

"I want to help," Hermione remarked. "Please."

Helping meant journeying up the stairs to help her mum begin packing clothing. Ron took it as a positive sign, even though it meant he was left alone on the sofa watching a Muggle news show because he was too afraid to change the channel. Mr. Granger would wander in from time while apparently put on hold on the telephone. He would listen to the news, occasionally make a comment about something going on in the world that Ron didn't understand, then return to his phone call. He used an imposing voice on the telephone and Ron found himself grateful they seemed to have made a sort of peace.

Three loud raps on the door sent him running to answer it, relieved for Hugo's company yet again. He wondered sadly how many days they had left with the young man. Despite the tone of Mr. Granger's voice, things seemed to be moving quickly. Hermione was helping her mum pack and they were at least talking about plane tickets.

He thought about the Burrow and the family he'd left behind. He thought about Harry and how much he missed him. And then he thought about Hugo and how much the young man had in common with his best friend. They were both orphans. They had both never really had homes to call their own. They'd both had people constantly appear and then disappear from their lives. Ron tried to fight against the sick feeling he got at the thought of them all leaving Hugo now.

"Did you find your mates?" he dared to ask.

"Yeah."

"Really?

"Yeah," Hugo laughed at Ron's skepticism. "They're up north along the coast. One works at a drycleaner. Says he thinks he could get me a job."

"So you've already got a job lined up then?" Ron wasn't even sure what drycleaning was, but Hugo certainly seemed happy about it.

"Yeah, maybe." Hugo flipped through the channels lackadaisically. "What about you? You make it through the day?"

"I think so." Ron glanced toward the kitchen where Mr. Granger was still barking into the phone.

"You manage to keep your hands off each other for five minutes then?"

"Piss off." Ron scowled and shook his head. Part of Hugo reminded him of Harry, but there was so much that reminded him of his brothers, too. His merciless teasing, his playful carefree demeanor. George would like him. Fred would have liked him, too.

"When are you lot leaving for the motherland?" Ron could detect a bit of sadness in the way Hugo asked the question as he picked at some dirt beneath his fingernail.

"Not sure."

He'd miss the scrappy young man, there was no doubt. He'd miss his blunt honesty, his teasing manner, his ability to read both him and Hermione so easily despite being oblivious to such a large part of their lives. He'd miss the random conversation and unfailing optimism. So he blurted it out without even thinking.

"Do you want to come with us?"

"Come with you, what? Back to England?" Hugo laughed absurdly and didn't even dignify the invitation with a response.

"You'd like it," Ron insisted, without even thinking about how ridiculous an invitation it was. When he got back to England, he'd be immersed back in the magical world. There would be no time to go drinking with Hugo or drive through the countryside for days.

"I'll never leave Australia." Hugo shook his head and a knowing grin spread across his face. "This is my home."

Home.

There was that word he didn't quite understand anymore.

He thought about the Burrow in the summer months. It was nearly June. He wondered if his mum had planted anything in the flowerbed and if any more of her fat brown chickens had come back. He thought about the big green pond full of frogs and the bright pink peony bushes and the smell of grass and honeysuckle.

"You excited to go home?" Hugo returned to the topic of last night's conversation, seeming to sense Ron going someplace else.

Ron realised at the words that the place he couldn't wait to leave two weeks ago he was now excited to return to. He could sit in his dad's garage and tell him about the television he'd learned to work and the bus lines he'd figured out how to navigate. He could show his mum how he'd taken care of Hermione like he'd promised her he would and make his brothers jealous when he told them everywhere he'd traveled and all he'd done. Being here, seeing Hermione with her mum and dad, no matter how strained, made him long for his own family. He missed hearing The Witching Hour while his mum busied about the kitchen and fussed at him to help her. He missed dinner at the scrubbed wooden table and rhubarb crumble and custard. He loved the Burrow and he loved his family and he missed them. But even then he still wasn't sure it was home.

"I guess."

"You don't sound too excited."

"I am. I want to see my family. I just don't know if it's really...home anymore," Ron admitted what he hadn't even voiced to Hermione.

"Home is where you make it," Hugo shrugged simply and when Ron looked to him he felt like an arse. Hugo had called more cities home than most people had journeyed to in a lifetime. Yet he wasn't bitter or jaded or angry about any of it. He wasn't confused about the place he called home. It wasn't a place where he put down roots or where his family lived. It was a place he felt in his heart.

Yet that was the problem.

"But it doesn't feel like home without him."

"Your brother?"

"Yeah."

"So make him be there," Hugo suggested like it was obvious. For a moment Ron recalled his foolish desire to find the Resurrection Stone before he realised Hugo was clearly talking about something simpler.

"I don't like thinking about him."

"Pfft, you've talked about him plenty," Hugo remarked dismissively.

"Yeah, but…" Ron's protest died in his throat. Talking to Hugo had been the only thing to pass those long hours in his Holden Calibra when Hermione was asleep in the backseat. Fred's name hadn't come up in conversation more than anyone else's, but he knew Hugo was probably referring to the sheer fact that he had talked about him. He'd thought about him. He'd made him be there.

"Just keep him with you. It'll be home again," he sounded confidently. Ron wondered if Hugo would change his tune if Ron told him the circumstances of his death, how he'd been there and how he'd found him. How he could have done something.

"And if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't then I reckon you make your home with your queen there." He looked toward the kitchen where Hermione and her mum had just appeared. "Though I reckon, you'll probably do that anyway." Hugo grinned. Tempted to punch him in the shoulder, Ron just shook his head and thought about life without Hugo.

"I'm gonna miss you, you know that," he blurted out then. Hugo just laughed.

"Nah, you won't. A week of shaggin' her round the clock back home an' you'll forget all about me."

"She'll be with her mum and dad. So that's definitely not happening," Ron snorted.

"You're a right sneaky bastard though. You'll find a way to get your leg over." Hugo winked.

"I won't forget about you," Ron maintained, looking to Hugo so earnestly the young man had no reply. He was grateful they hadn't told him more, grateful they could keep this friendship and leave it here in Australia. A part of him still desperately wanted him to know the truth though.

"Yeah," Hugo replied softly. "I won't forget about the two of you, either."

From the sound of things, the Grangers seemed to have accomplished a fair amount in twenty-four hours time. While Hugo and Ron had sat on the sofa watching Australian rules football and Mr. Granger had spent the afternoon on the telephone, Hermione and her mum had apparently packed up nearly their entire closet. The positive way they talked indicated they were that much closer to returning to England.

The family dinner was decidedly less awkward than the previous one. Everything was still excessively polite and things seemed forced at times, but it was an improvement. Hermione and her mum could share a laugh when they recounted stories about trying to cram all the jumpers her mum had packed and never worn into the suitcases, and the frostiness between Ron and Mr. Granger fortunately seemed to have thawed.

"I've asked Ron to stay," he stated after a particularly long silence midway through dinner. "You know, for however long this all takes."

"Good. I told you I wanted him to stay." Hugo gave Ron a wink from across the table at Mrs. Granger's encouraging words.

"And I thanked him. Told him how much I appreciate him...looking after you this year."

Ron looked down to the greens on his plate, disliking that he was suddenly the topic of conversation and unsure why her father was informing the table of their private conversation that afternoon. It seemed a bit like a strained attempt at an apology for losing his cool yesterday and an effort at helping smooth things over with his daughter.

Nobody at the table appeared quite sure how to respond, least of all Hugo, whose understanding of the last year had come only in bits and pieces of angry conversation or unintended slips during the last week. True to his word, he'd asked no questions and didn't seem eager to know how he and Hermione had somehow saved the world.

"We took care of each other," Hermione mumbled.

"Yes, well. I appreciate it. It's...very obvious he cares a great deal about you," Mr. Granger spoke carefully. The sound of cutlery on plates was the only thing that filled the silence for several minutes until Hugo fortunately announced his good luck in locating both his friend and a possible job.

"So I'd drive the clean clothes around and pick up the dirty ones. Sort of like delivering pizza only without all the drunk people!" he replied brightly.

"A job's a job!" Hermione's mum sounded triumphantly. "That's wonderful."

"Only thing is I have to use my own car and I don't know if all the clothes will fit in mine. Hermione can tell you after ridin' in it all week, the backseat ain't much."

"About that," Mr. Granger cleared his throat. The entire table turned to peer at Mr. Granger, wondering what he could possibly have to say about Hugo's Calibra. "I have been on the phone with...more people than I can even begin to tell you and it looks like there's...no way out of any of the leases," he informed. "So I want to offer it to you, Hugo."

"To me?" Hugo gaped.

"They're six month leases so there's five more months on all of them. We'll add you to the policy for the car and the house."

"I - I can't pay for all this drivin' around dry cleanin," Hugo admitted sheepishly.

"Well, we're not transferring the policy to you, we're just going to add you to it. We'd still have to pay for it, but we want you to stay here."

"I could never pay you back for it," he muttered in embarrassment, looking as uncomfortable as Ron had ever seen him.

"You already have," her mum spoke softly, glancing at Hugo and taking her daughter's hand. There was a grateful look in her eye that Ron could see was echoed in her husband's. It was the first obvious indication since their initial reunion yesterday that her parents were happy to have her back in their lives. The action said everything Hermione needed to know. Yet Ron could see she still looked slightly uncomfortable.

He spoke her name softly, knowing what was eating away at her, knowing perfectly well she had to let it go if they could ever be a family again. They locked eyes for a moment. He didn't say anything further, but he was begging her to let it go. They had enough trauma to last them five lifetimes after this year, but second-guessing decisions they'd made and things they'd done would get them nowhere. Australia had been about moving forward, confronting their fears and forging a new life one step at a time. If they could get through it all, she could take her mum's hand and do what he knew she needed to do.

"I'm so sorry," she finally uttered the words she'd held onto for what he now knew was years. "I'm sorry I kept things from you for so long. I'm so sorry I had to...do this." Hugo's presence at the table kept her words vague and unspecific, but Ron figured that was probably best. He watched as a single tear dripped out the corner of her eye and worried for a moment the cathartic release might turn into the episode on the steps of their old house back in Brisbane. He immediately moved to wrap her in a comforting hug like he'd done countless times before, but it was her mum's arms that enveloped her first. And Ron knew then despite her father's words of invitation, he didn't belong here anymore. He'd done what he set out to do; he'd brought Hermione to her parents. But he couldn't help with the rest. They had to heal together as a family.

It was why her dad had been so frosty to him, he saw it now. It was the same reason Charlie gave for his mum's frostiness toward Hermione had explained his mum having at first been so cold to Hermione back at the Burrow. It was why he was so confused about where home was. They were each other's home now, Hermione and him. And that meant each pulled the other away from the parents who had loved and raised them for eighteen years.

It's why he and Hugo excused themselves from the table and allowed her the time alone with her family. They helped clear the table and quickly disappeared outside to walk along the banks of the Swan River. He didn't feel any guilt walking away from 29 Somerset Way. Reconnecting with her family would be difficult, but it was why they'd come to Australia.

He felt like a different person from the one who had left the Burrow. The war might have forced him to grow up quickly, but he hadn't felt like an actual grown up until this trip. And it wasn't just because they'd shagged or said 'I love you' or lived together in a hotel room for a week. It was because he understood now. He didn't have to storm away from the table or snog her to dull the ache deep inside. He could confront things. Not just because he was the young man who had helped Harry Potter vanquish Voldemort. Because he knew now what he wished he'd known when he was eleven: keeping things to himself never helped anything.

"Sounds like you'll be out of here in a week's time, if that," Hugo commented casually as he stretched out and looked out at the sailboats on the river.

"Yeah, it sure does," Ron looked out at the boats as well. "You're not going to say anything to your mates, right Hugo? About any of this?"

"They'd all think I was a nutter if I did."

"Like they don't already!" Ron teased.

"Right you are," Hugo agreed with a grin.

"Do you want to know?"

"If you can't tell me, then don't tell me. There's shit in life you can't explain and I reckon that's just what this is."

"What if I told you I was a wizard?" Ron wasn't sure why the words had tumbled forth. He and Hermione had agreed not to tell him, but Ron hated the notion of leaving him in the dark, no matter how okay he seemed to be with it. He wanted Hugo to know. He deserved to know after all he'd done for them. Surely, this was a breach the Ministry could understand.

"What, like Gandalf?" Hugo laughed loudly. Ron didn't understand the reference and just frowned, wondering for a brief moment if Hugo knew another wizard. "Castin' spells and doin' magic and shit?"

"Yeah."

"Wicked." He kept laughing. Ron couldn't tell if he'd broken the Statute of Secrecy or not. "We should go into business, you and me. I'll read the Tarot cards and tell the fortunes. You do the magic."

Ron laughed with Hugo because he didn't know what else to do.

"Like I said, there's shit you can't explain." Hugo gave a carefree sigh and chuckled to himself. Ron didn't know whether the comment referred to the last five days or the confession he still wasn't quite sure Hugo had taken seriously. Either way, Hugo didn't seem to care too much.

"Right." A peaceful silence filled the space between the two young men. Ron mused over the words and again reflected admiringly on the manner with which Hugo lived his life. He thought about Luna Lovegood and how oblivious she always seemed to the unkind words and cruelties thrown her way. He thought about Harry who had seemed to take all the madness of the year in stride, content that it was over and able to go on living his life without berating himself over everything else that had happened. Then he thought again about Hugo, who was still sitting beside him with a smile on his face.

Hermione's voice suddenly shattered the silence. She looked out of breath and clutched a piece of paper in her hand as she sprinted toward them.

"What are you doing?" Ron frowned. "We left so you could be with your parents."

"They said you - " Hermione looked to Hugo accusingly. " - were the kind of person who might leave and not say goodbye."

"Who? Me? Never!" Hugo feigned offense. "Okay, maybe sometimes I do," he admitted. "But I wasn't leaving yet. I promise."

"Well, They wanted me to give you this in case you were." She shoved the piece of paper in her hand to him. "It's our address back in England."

"Excellent."

"I can't believe you'd leave without saying goodbye!" Ron looked to Hugo, eyes blazing in accusation.

"I just don't like goodbyes! Probably 'cause I've had to say so many, I dunno I just - " Hugo attempted to stammer out an explanation, but Hermione flung her arms around his neck before he could continue.

"I wasn't leavin' tonight. Promise," he laughed and patted her on the back. "My mates are just havin' a bonfire on the beach."

"Thank you." Hermione squeezed him tightly. "Thank you for everything."

"Come off it." Hugo looked embarrassed like he had when Hermione's parents had told him they wanted him to stay in the house, but she kept hugging him. Eventually, Ron saw Hugo's arms slowly wrap around her in return.

"I don't know what we'd have done without you," Hermione confessed breathlessly as she broke apart.

"Oh, I think I've got a hunch," Hugo teased with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"We're going to miss you," she articulated what Ron already had that afternoon.

"Oh, you lot are so dramatic." He attempted to dismiss her words with a roll of his eyes, but Ron saw him swallow a rather large lump in his throat. "You've got your brothers and - what's it - Harry, who's shaggin' your sister."

"Sod off." Ron made to shove Hugo in the arm, but somehow the shove turned into a handshake that then turned into a hug.

Ron hoped it wouldn't be the last time he saw Hugo, that he'd be at the Grangers tomorrow night for dinner and probably every night until they left. He knew this was the only chance to properly say goodbye though. He'd slip out one night and that would be it. He'd depart from their lives as quickly and surprisingly as he'd entered them.

"Thank you," he muttered, feeling an odd lump in his throat as they broke apart. He didn't know what else to say. He'd said everything he possibly could have to the young man. So he just waved and watched him disappear down the riverbank, knowing he'd likely see him tomorrow, but feeling a hollow ache nonetheless.

"Kind of reminds me of Brisbane," Ron remarked as Hugo faded from view and he plopped down onto the bench. He thought about the bench in Brisbane near the river, and her list, and all that had lain before them back then. Find a hotel. Locate the Grangers. He wondered if even Hermione could have imagined all that had happened in between.

"All the boats remind me of Henley." She smiled when she spoke about her hometown, which pleased Ron.

"You excited to go back?"

"I am." She exhaled loudly as she spoke. "I mean it's still...strange. I think I'll always feel a bit guilty - "

"You saved their - " Ron began to counter for the millionth time, but she cut him off.

"I don't just mean about this year," she explained and took in a deep breath. "There's just... so much I have to tell them." Her voice trembled slightly with emotion, but not in the fragile way that meant she was about to dissolve into tears. It was just part of confronting her past. "I've been keeping things from them for years and - and the things that happened this year - it'll be hard, but..." Her words trailed away, but he could hear it in her voice. It would be hard, but she would do it. She would come clean and admit to what she'd done and what had happened because she had to do it. She needed to if she ever wanted to feel better.

Ron mused over the events of the past year and wondered if he'd ever be able to come around to Hugo's way of letting things go. He reckoned life would be a whole lot simpler if he did. He clucked to himself and stared out at the river. Perhaps he ought to start now.

"I didn't look for him," he spoke suddenly. "After the explosion-" he stammered and he saw the recognition dawn on her face at that lone word. "I - I didn't even look for him."

It was the first time he'd ever talked about that night. He wasn't sure whether it was Hermione's ability to finally deal with her demons or the conversation with Hugo that made him do it. But he knew this was the piece he had to confront, the piece that he reckoned would finally help him start to move on.

When he returned to his family he'd have to deal with all the things he'd pushed aside at the Burrow in favour of snogging Hermione, all the things he'd delayed in favour of journeying to Australia and being with her. And he'd have to do it all now without her because she'd be busy putting her own family back together. This felt like the last moment he'd really have alone with her. He knew he probably should use the time to snog her senseless and relive their last night together - a night that now seemed like a distant memory - because who knew when their next time alone would be.

But instead he was talking about that other night, reliving the awful memory that still invaded his dreams. Their constant activity since stepping foot in Australia had kept his thoughts occupied with so many other things like bus routes and city maps and Hermione's breasts.

There was no more escaping though, or there would be no moving forward They'd promised each other they'd talk about it and Ron knew he had to start with the memories of that one horrific moment. His fingers began to busy themselves with the hem of his shirt.

"I looked for you," he admitted and the minute he spoke the words he felt his shoulders relax. "You were the first person I went to. I didn't - didn't think about anyone else." The sheer act of finally saying it out loud made him realise how silly it was to feel shame over how much he cared for Hermione. "I remember hitting the wall. I hit my head so hard and I couldn't see and - and the dust was so thick." His fingers now pulled at a loose thread as he recalled the way the dust stung his eyes and how muffled everything was in the wake of the explosion as he staggered desperately in search of Hermione. "I was looking for you when I found him." He swallowed again and took in another deep breath, unsure how he was supposed to get through the next part of his narrative.

"I tripped over him," he finally blurted out and he didn't mean for his voice to shake like it was. "I tripped over him trying to get to you." There were no great heaving sobs like when he'd broken down in her bedroom weeks ago. The tears fell silently, dripping down his face one at a time in tiny rivulets. "It was his arm," he informed her with a sniffle and a weird twisted smile. Her hands were still folded in her lap and she looked unsure about how to react. "He was still holding his wand."

Ron was glad she made no effort to wipe away any of his tears or take his hand. She just let him talk.

"I thought he was just stunned because he was still kind of smiling, y'know?" Ron's fingers returned to the hem of his shirt. "But then I realised he wasn't blinking and - and he wasn't...wasn't breathing," he admitted shakily. "One minute he was up joking with Perce and then…then he was just gone." Ron closed his eyes and recalled that awful moment as clearly as if it was yesterday. "He was dead." It wasn't the first time he'd spoken the words aloud, but it was the first time he had said them to her. "I didn't say anything when I realised it. I remember Percy just kept shouting and he was laying on him. He wouldn't move. He wouldn't leave him." Ron sucked in a deep breath. "I didn't want to leave him, either." His voice waivered now at the vivid recollection. "I wanted to stay, but those effing spiders showed up and then Harry pushed me forward."

"You had to keep moving forward. We all had to," Hermione reminded.

"I wanted to stay with him." He wiped away a hot tear as it dripped down his freckled cheek.

"We were the only ones who could stop it, Ron."

"I wanted to stay with him."

"I know." Her voice trembled slightly. "But you saved me, do you remember?" Hermione had to lower her head to catch his downcast eyes. "There was a Death Eater about to curse me and you pushed me behind the curtains."

"Did I?" All Ron could recall about the curtains was Hermione restraining him behind them.

"You saved me," she repeated. "The curse just missed me. It burned my jacket." Ron remembered seeing the singed mark on Hermione's jacket, but the story was news to him. He could remember nothing else specific in the immediate aftermath of discovering Fred, just a blind rage that had taken over him.

"I wanted to kill them all." Ron ground his teeth together. "I wanted to kill them all so badly."

"I know."

"It was you. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You got yourself through it." She shook her head in disagreement and Ron realised she thought he was only talking about the battle.

"No, it was you." He reached down and squeezed her hand then. "It's always been you." She'd gotten him through everything. Not just the Battle and not just Fred's funeral, but the past year. She was what had drawn him back to Harry, what had saved him the days he wanted nothing more than to fall into despair at their hopeless mission, what he had fought for above anything else, and what got him through the days after when the looming thought of his brother's funeral had eaten away at him.

"You know, I don't remember the last thing I said to him," he admitted what he'd wanted to tell her since that night she'd come undone on the bathroom floor back in their Brisbane suite. "We left to go down to the Chamber and I didn't even say anything to him. Not goodbye, not good luck. Nothing."

"He knew you loved him," she murmured softly. He thought then about her tearful apology to her parents at the dinner table and all that she still had to confront.

"Just like your parents do." He managed to give her a smile. They were on their way. It wouldn't happen immediately. It would take much longer than the two weeks remaining in Australia, but they were on their way and they were doing it together.

"Do you know what I saw when I tried to destroy the Horcrux?" she inquired softly, seeming to be thinking the same thing. The random question caught Ron by surprise. He had indeed wondered what had caused the desperate fury in her eyes as the water swirled around them, but he'd never dared to ask her. "I failed," she admitted meekly. Ron was briefly tempted to take the mickey out of her for fearing something so silly, but recalling the terrified expression on her face when she'd stabbed the cup, he kept silent. "Everybody was dead. First I watched you drown. Then I saw Harry die." She paused a moment and licked her lips. "Then my parents."

Knowing how convincing the Horcrux could be, Ron shivered at the mere thought. He could hardly imagine seeing all that in the middle of the insanity of that night.

"You couldn't fail if you wanted to," he assured and moved his hand atop hers. After all they'd shared this trip, it was the most innocent way to touch her, but it reminded him of all those times this year he'd gripped her hand in fear. It reminded him how far away those memories now seemed and all the new ones they'd made together this month. "We did it, Hermione." Ron wasn't sure what he even meant when he said the words. Finding her parents, reversing the spell, or starting to put themselves back together. They'd done so much in Australia. She squeezed his hand back and smiled. They'd done it all, together.


	45. Epilogue

When the soft pop sounded he thought at first nobody heard them arrive. They stood in the drive of the Burrow hand-in-hand, staring at its five chimneys and asymmetrical frame and Ron recalled how eager he'd been to leave it a month ago. Hermione squeezed his hand, but before they could even take a step forward, Ron heard the broomshed door rattle and Harry and his sister quickly came tumbling out from behind it along with all the brooms.

"You're home!" Ginny shrieked and flew at him before Ron could even react to the undone buttons and flushed colour in their cheeks. "Mom! Dad! Percy! George! It's Ron and Hermione!" Her joyful cries as she flung her arms around his neck indicated just how long his family had been awaiting the reunion. Harry stood to the side, sheepishly scuffing his toe in the dirt and rumpling his hair while avoiding Ron's accusatory gaze.

"I don't even want to know what you two have been up to while we've been gone," Ron announced over his sister's shoulder. He reckoned he'd really have to get used to the fact that Harry and his sister were together the way he and Hermione were. It was certainly nothing he could berate them over anymore, not after what he and Hermione had done.

"Welcome home." Harry gripped him tightly. Then he hugged Hermione and then they were all hugging each other at once. It was a hug that had been lacking since those moments when Voldemort first crumpled to the ground. It was a hug that acknowledged much more than the mere fact that they'd survived. Maybe they weren't ready for carefree trips to Diagon Alley yet, but they were getting there. He couldn't explain how a silent hug could say so much, but it was his best mate and he could feel it.

The clatter of pots and pans sounded next as his mum came barreling out the door, in such a hurry she nearly tripped over a pair of Wellington boots. Ron could hardly recall ever seeing her move so fast. She practically knocked him over and wrapped him in a hug so tight he lost his breath for a moment.

"You're home!" Her voice, though full of emotion, didn't break and she wasn't teary. She sounded deliriously happy and her joy was magnified tenfold when she enveloped Hermione in an equally vigorous hug. "Arthur, they're home!" she shouted back into the house. "They're home!" Ron could hear his dad thundering through the house next and when he finally emerged with his belt jangling around his waist, Ron couldn't help but laugh with the realisation that he was likely on the toilet prior to his mum's bellowing cries.

"You could have finished doing a shit, dad." George appeared behind his dad with a shake of his head and Ron laughed even louder, especially when his mum slapped George so hard upside the head at the crass statement that he winced. They all laughed then, loud belly laughs the Weasley family likely hadn't shared in well over a year.

"Honestly, what is all the racket?" Percy emerged next. "You know perfectly well the Ministry won't allow me to work from home if I can't get anything done."

George and Ginny both shook their heads and Ron laughed some more for no other reason than Percy was back to being good old Percy. And he realised then how much he missed his family, embracing each like he hadn't since the night they lost Fred. His mum and dad he hugged the hardest. He wanted to apologise then for everything - for what he was like before he left, for avoiding them and getting pissed and missing the funeral, and yelling all the time, but their enveloping arms and wide smiles told him there was no need.

He needed this. They knew that. And they knew he was back.

"Where are Charlie and Bill?"

"They're both at work. Charlie's working in Wales now studying a colony of Greens," his mum informed. "He comes home every Sunday for dinner."

Ron felt a brief pang of guilt as he recalled the accusatory words he hurled at his brother about being away from home, but his mum was beaming so wide at the news it was hard not to smile back.

"I missed a lot." He felt like the smile would never leave his face.

"You were busy yourselves, eh?" Ron knew his dad meant nothing suggestive by the comment, but he could see Harry and George both smirking at him and he wondered how it was they both knew. Perhaps it was the pinkening of his own ears at his dad's words as he held Hermione's hand and thought about the last time they made love. Cackling silently with laughter, George turned away, practically beside himself. "Staying in a Muggle hotel and flying in an aeroplane!" His dad continued excitedly, thankfully causing Ron to turn his attention away from his brother. "Did you learn how they stay up?" he pressed and Ron could foresee many nights out in his dad's garage telling him everything about skateboards, television sets, and room service.

"And your parents are well, Hermione?" his mum inquired then, her eyes shining brightly.

"They're...adjusting," Hermione spoke carefully. Ron stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, knowing just getting away with him to return to the Burrow had required a large amount of convincing.

"Well, as soon as they're adjusted, you must have them over for dinner." There was nothing disingenuous about the invitation and Hermione smiled back graciously, but Ron couldn't help but wonder if her parents would ever really be adjusted. "And you'll be staying tonight? I was just making a roast. Should only be an hour longer."

"Thank you, but I - I really must get back to my parents." Her words reminded Ron how little he would actually be seeing her in the next few weeks. Her parents were shaky, at best, about letting her Apparate here with him and he doubted many visits would follow in the next month.

"Yes, of course. Understandable." His mum nodded her head over and over, unable to keep her hands from smoothing down the hair on Ron's head, as if in disbelief that he was home at last. They all stood around facing each other for several awkward moments then and it was his father who caught on first and began shuffling backward toward the house, clearly hesitant to leave but wanting to grant him and Hermione a moment of privacy.

"Yes, well, we'll uh - let you say goodbye then," he stammered.

Goodbye. It would be strange to say it to somebody whose side he'd hardly left for the better part of the last year. Somebody he'd spent most of the last month sharing absolutely everything with. From meals to sleep to so much more, she'd practically become a part of him.

"But you'll come inside, Ron?" his mum asked hopefully.

"Yeah, yeah, there's just something I've gotta do first." He glanced behind the orchard to the buckthorn bush he knew was there, but couldn't see. It was George who seemed to catch on first that the thing he had to do wasn't just saying goodbye to Hermione.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Hermione inquired, turning to face him. "I told my mum and dad I'd be more than just a few minutes."

"I'm fine," Ron dismissed and seeing Hermione's disbelieving look he modified his words. "I'll be fine."

"I can come," she insisted again.

"No," he stated firmly and then, of all things, he gave a small smile. "I want to do this alone."

She looked at him and smiled back then in understanding. He wanted to be alone because he could do it alone now. He didn't need her kisses to distract him or her soft hand in his to hold him up. He could face this reality alone. They'd propped each other up for weeks and now he was ready to stand on his own. Because he wasn't that person anymore, the one who depended on her for every smile and laugh.

"You're sure?" He'd been staring so intently into her eyes he didn't even realise how her hands had moved. They rested on his waist now in an intimate manner, as if she were holding him steady. She wobbled slightly and he wondered then if perhaps it was the other way around.

"I love you," he assured, hardly caring that his entire family could hear him. He could hear his mom give a whimpering sort of sound that he thought was good and his sister snort derisively. "But go be with your mum and dad. They're the ones who need you now."

It felt good to say out loud. He didn't need her anymore. He loved her with every fibre of his being, but he could stand alone. He could make it through the day tomorrow without having to feel her lips on his.

"I promise. I'll be okay." He laughed, knowing how wary she was and he wondered then, as the smile was slow to form on her face, if perhaps she wasn't there yet. Because she'd still trembled in her sleep on the horrible thirteen hour flight and the bandage was back on her forearm and her mother had seen both signs that indicated her daughter had been through more in the last year than she'd yet let on. Ron felt Hermione's fingers tighten their grip on him, digging into his hips in a desperate way he hoped George didn't see. "I'll see you in a few days," he assured and he wrapped her in a hug then, fighting through the trepidation that a few days would turn into a few weeks. "We're going to be fine," he whispered and she hugged him again then, in a manner so raw he knew his family could see it. There were demons in Australia, he knew they now realised, demons they both had to fight and a lot more at stake than simply finding her parents.

Now one final battle remained.

Capturing her lips in his softly, hoping it wouldn't be too long before he felt them again, he turned from her only when her arms finally loosened their grip around him. Then he began the long walk Hermione had pleaded with him to make four Fridays ago. She was watching him, he knew. His whole family was watching as he put one step in front of the other and walked around the side of the Burrow and through the garden to the orchard. He kept walking, past the two trees that always served as goalposts until he reached the empty expanse of green in front of the great buckthorn bush.

The gravestone came into view then and even though his feet slowed Ron kept moving forward. He could feel the guilt that he'd struggled with all these weeks finally lift from his shoulders as he continued walking. Letters appeared in the stone and the letters formed words until he was staring at his brother's name.

It took several minutes before the hot tears slid down. The sheer frankness of it, seeing the inscription and the date and the earth that was still somewhat fresh even after a month.

And he knew then he'd never win the battle. He'd never truly win any of them. He'd probably always have nightmares. They might come few and far between, but they'd still occur.

Hermione's scars might fade one day, but the real wound wouldn't ever really heal. And the reality was his family would probably grieve forever. They would never get over the loss of Fred. Eventually, they would learn to live with it. Maybe they were already starting to heal, but they would all rebuild around the loss. His family, Hermione, her parents, they were all changed by the events of the last year. They all had to learn how to live again.

He'd be whole again one day, he knew. He could see a life with Hermione as vividly as he'd ever seen anything in his life before, but he'd never be the same. And he was okay with that.

He didn't want to be the same.


End file.
